


Love Conquers All

by britomart



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora/Catra is Canon (She-Ra), Canon Compliant, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Magicats (She-Ra), Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britomart/pseuds/britomart
Summary: Catra remembers her own sleepless nights and violent rages—the scratches she gouged in Adora’s bedding, the shriek of claws against metal as she defaced the silly sketch they had drawn together. She remembers lying awake for hours each night, unacknowledged tears leaking from her eyes as Adora’s scent slowly faded from her life. She takes a deep breath, filling herself up to banish the memories. Adora loves her. Adora stayed.---In the aftermath of Horde Prime's demise, Catra struggles to integrate into Etherian society as she and Adora explore their newfound relationship. Featuring major cuddles, minor angst, therapy, a surprise character development for Catra, and sweetly awkward fumblings toward physical intimacy. This fic also includes a few minor references to @Annacharlier's "Don't Go," which is canon as far as we all know, and to Noelle and Molly's amazing #BLM livestream. <3
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 419
Kudos: 1100





	1. What's Done is Done

**Author's Note:**

> This fic explores the immediate aftermath of the Season 5 finale. 
> 
> Chapter 1: Catra can't stop staring at Adora but eventually has to apologize to Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio. Rated "T."
> 
> Chapter 2: Glimmer hosts a slumber party because who wants to sleep alone after being mind-controlled/nearly perishing in the battle against Prime/.? Rated "T."
> 
> Chapter 3: Catra's nightmare causes complications. Rated "M" out of an abundance of caution.
> 
> Chapter 4: Catra learns that not all bruises are bad. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 5: Adora accidentally says a mean thing, and the consequences are unexpected. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 6: Catra processes her past and current feelings with Spinnerella. Rated "T."
> 
> Chapter 7: Adora asks Netossa what happens after kissing. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 8: In which there are meaningful speeches, slow dances, feasting, cloud-beaches, marshmallows, Mad Libs, and Mer-Mysteries. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 9: Adora learns that Catra is ahead of the curve with respect to Netossa's advice. Rated "E."
> 
> Chapter 10: Catra shows Adora just how much she loves her. Rated "E."
> 
> Chapter 11: Adora takes a cue from Catra. Frosta and Catra nearly face off. Actual conflict appears. Rated "E."
> 
> Chapter 12: Catra and Huntara clash. She-Ra and Catra collaborate on the battlefield. Something unexpected occurs. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 13: Adora tries to protect Catra, with limited success. Bow has a minor crisis. Micah makes an appearance. Rated "T."
> 
> Chapter 14: Adora reflects on the past while Catra convalesces. Netossa's failure to properly educate Adora is finally rectified. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 15: The BFS pays a visit to Madame Razz and then to the Library. Surprises ensue. Adora's attempt to comfort Catra becomes something more. Rated "E."
> 
> Chapter 16: Catra and Adora go on a quest. Rated "M."
> 
> Chapter 17: The Princess Alliance bands together. Surprising information is revealed about Razz's relationship history. Rated "M."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra steps forward so they are embracing and leans her head against Adora’s shoulder. People are probably staring at them, wondering how it’s possible for She-Ra to love Catra of the Evil Horde. Let them wonder. Their love is magic.
> 
> \--
> 
> In which Catra's feelings are transparent, Adora is overprotective, and Bow offers helpful insights.

Catra has never been hugged this much or this long in her life, but Bow’s hand on her shoulder is warm and comforting, and the gentle pressure of Adora’s arm around her feels amazing, so she can’t bring herself to object. Eventually, they break apart when Adora realizes there are refugees to take care of, and she and Glimmer concoct a plan to teleport the homeless to Bright Moon. Catra loves the stupid little furrow that appears in Adora’s brow when she’s concentrating, and the dumb way she puts her hands on her hips when she’s trying to make a point about Glimmer over-exerting herself.

The truth is, she can’t stop staring at Adora. She doesn’t even want to try.

“Catra?” Adora speaks the syllables of her name softly, solicitously.

Only then does Catra realize the planning has concluded and they are all now looking at her. Glimmer is smirking. Bow’s smile risks splitting his face. Her tail bristles as she realizes they’ve been watching her watch Adora.

“I—what? Nothing!”

“You two are just _so cute_!” Bow exclaims.

“Let’s go.” A light blush stains Adora’s cheeks, but she extends one hand. Catra takes it, and the sensation of their palms sliding together makes her chest ache in the most wonderful way.

“Where are we going?”

Glimmer’s laugh sounds like bells. “You really didn’t hear a word we said, did you? I’m teleporting us home. You’ll help the city prepare for the refugees.”

Home. Is Bright Moon “home” now? She thinks of the Fright Zone and wonders how the Heart’s magic has transformed it. She thinks of Lonnie and Kyle and Rogelio, and whether they will be as quick to forgive as Scorpia. Probably not. Her stomach twists.

“What about the Horde?” The words are out of her mouth before she can take them back.

Glimmer is frowning, but Adora smacks herself on the forehead with the hand that isn’t being held by Catra. “We didn’t think of that! There are, what—dozens of clones, if not hundreds? Not to mention the regular soldiers and cadets.”

“Entrapta and Hordak and wrong-Hordak can help with the clones,” Bow says. “Er, I think?”

Catra can understand his uncertainty. It seems just as possible that Entrapta and Hordak will end up deciding that the clones need terrifying robotic upgrades. Hopefully wrong-Hordak, in all his revolutionary fervor, will keep them honest.

“That should work,” Adora muses. “But—”

“I need to go to the Fright Zone,” Catra says. The thought of facing everyone there makes it hard to swallow, but she also _knows,_ way deep down, that it’s the right thing to do. Jeez. Is this how Adora feels, like, all the time? It’s uncomfortable.

Adora’s thumb strokes across her knuckles. “Are you sure?”

Catra looks up into those wide, blue eyes and nods. “Yeah. There’s stuff I need to explain. And they’ll listen to me.” _I hope,_ she adds silently.

Adora squeezes her hand. “I’m coming with you.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrow. “They used to be my family, too.”

The ache in Catra’s chest has become a sharper pain. She drops Adora’s hand, then flinches at the hurt that flickers in her expressive face. Still, this is something she needs to do on her own, and she needs Adora to understand that.

“You left,” she says, then holds up a finger when Adora’s jaw tightens. “Hang on, listen, I get why you left. I actually do get it now. But if the Horde sees me with you, some of them will think I’m being compelled by She-Ra. I’ll be more convincing by myself.”

“Wait just a minute,” Glimmer says. “What exactly are you going to be trying to _convince_ them of?”

It takes an effort to look away from Adora. “That they should lay down their arms and integrate into Etherian society.” At Glimmer’s look of astonishment, she rolls her eyes. “Duh. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I honestly hadn’t gotten that far,” Glimmer says weakly. Then, she brightens. “Let’s talk to my dad!”

This is actually a good, strategic decision, Catra thinks as they make their way over to King Micah and the others. Micah has more ruling experience than Glimmer. And he was chipped, so he might actually feel some empathy for the “enemy.” On the other hand, the Horde exiled him to Beast Island for a decade, so… maybe not?

She grimaces at the ground. This redemption stuff is hard, and she’s barely even started. Plus, it feels wrong not to be touching Adora, but that’s just pathetic. Gritting her teeth, she tries to focus on what she should tell the Horde about her experience with Prime and whether she can apologize without actually having to say the words “I’m sorry.” Ugh.

When Adora slips an arm through Catra’s, relief knocks the breath from her lungs. Her eyes tear up, and she keeps them trained on her feet, not wanting Adora to see. Adora leans down, and the puffs of her breaths against Catra’s ear make her feel warm and shivery deep inside.

“I understand why you want to go alone,” Adora whispers. “And I know you’re going to tell me I’m an idiot.”

She stops, and Catra has to stop with her or pull away again. As if that’s a real choice.

Adora cups her face in both hands and gently tugs until their gazes meet. “After everything that’s happened, I can’t stand not to be with you. We can take Melog. I’ll stay invisible unless you need me.”

Catra knows what Adora isn’t saying. If the Horde isn’t willing to listen to her, she might need She-Ra instead. There’s still a stubborn, angry part of her that wants to insist she doesn’t need _anyone,_ but Adora’s thumbs are brushing across Catra’s cheeks, and her eyes are glistening, and the angry hissing in her head dies down to a murmur.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, hearing the thickness in her own voice. “And you _are_ an idiot.”

*

Glimmer teleports them into what’s left of Hordak’s sanctum and promises she’ll be back to check on them in a few hours. The ruins of the sanctum are overgrown with thick green vines sprouting vivid purple and red flowers. Their spicy scent perfumes the air.

“Be careful,” Adora whispers. And then, “I love you.”

Catra stares up at her as the words sink in, warming her like sunlight from the inside out. Before she can second-guess herself, she kisses Adora for the second time, arms encircling her neck. When Adora sighs against her mouth, Catra thinks her heart might actually pound its way out of her chest. She moves her lips gently; Adora mirrors her, and the sensation is more perfect than anything she has ever experienced or imagined. A purr wells up from her throat, growing louder as Adora strokes her hair.

Melog trills softly, warning of footsteps approaching. Catra breaks the kiss, vowing to kill whoever it is—only to see Kyle round the corner holding a trackerpad. Damn it, she’s here to apologize to Kyle, not kill him. She releases her grip on Adora’s neck, takes one more second to imprint the sight of her—flushed and beautiful and breathing faster than usual—and steps outside Melog’s protective aura.

In his shock, Kyle drops the trackerpad and finds a way to trip over thin air. Sprawled out on the floor, staring up at her in fear, he stammers her name. Catra feels a little sick that Adora is witnessing this, but she can’t turn back now. She bends down to retrieve Kyle’s device, then holds out a hand to help him up. He doesn’t take it.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Kyle,” she says, the words coming out more irritated than she had intended. He still looks terrified—in fact, he’s literally shaking. Taking a deep breath, she starts again. “Kyle. I’m sorry. For how I treated you, and Lonnie, and Rogelio, and everyone. I should never have opened that portal. Horde Prime was a nightmare.”

Dumbfoundedness has replaced the panic on his face. “Are you really Catra? Double Trouble, is that you?”

Catra can feel her ears twitching and calms them only with an effort. How is she supposed to convince Kyle that she isn’t a shapeshifter? Then it comes to her—Double Trouble knew Kyle for months, but she has known him all his life.

“Kyle. Remember when you were seven, and we were playing hide-and-seek, and you hid in one of the washing machines? And I thought it would be funny to start the cycle, but then Adora came in and asked what I was doing and realized you were in there…”

Come to think of it, this is a terrible way to prove she’s actually contrite. Grimacing, Catra scrubs her face with one palm. “Which, by the way, I am also sorry for. Not that she found you, but that I, um, could have drowned you.”

“Catra? It’s really you?” He stands up slowly, then snatches the trackerpad back and clutches it to his chest. “What happened to your hair?”

“Prime cut it when he brainwashed me.” Catra’s empty hands clutch into fists, but at Kyle’s apprehensive look, she forces herself to relax them. “I meant what I said, Kyle. Prime was horrific, but he’s gone now. The Horde can have a better life. No more fighting, and good food instead of ration bars.”

“Technically, I’m not in the Horde anymore,” he says. “We got fed up with you and left. We’re just here scavenging.”

Catra blinks. “You left the Horde, but you’re still here?” Why is she even surprised? This is one-hundred percent textbook Kyle. “Look, never mind. If you help me, you can taste real cake.”

“Real cake?” He says it so wistfully.

“Yeah. Will you take me to Lonnie and Rogelio?” He stands there, looking uncertain and still scared. Catra closes her eyes briefly, swallows down her pride, and makes herself say it. “Please?”

*

In the end, it isn’t hard to convince what’s left of Hordak’s empire to agree to King Micah’s terms. By the time Glimmer returns for them, the remaining troops have elected Lonnie as their spokesperson, even though she keeps insisting she defected. Electing a deserter to lead them bodes well for the success of her plan, and Catra feels reasonably optimistic by the time they agree to a formal meeting at Bright Moon the next day. Adora keeps her promise and never shows herself—not even when Lonnie shoves Catra into the wall before Kyle can convince her to hear Catra out.

During Catra’s many apologies, there were details she wishes Adora hadn’t heard. A new kind of sick feeling has taken up lodging in Catra’s chest. Instead of longing after Adora and hating herself for it, she now fears that Adora, confronted by new evidence of Catra’s abusiveness, will withdraw her love. But when she steps back into contact with Melog, Adora immediately reaches for her hand. She doesn’t say anything—probably because Glimmer is there too—but her gaze is open and… tender. Catra knows she doesn’t deserve that tenderness. Whatever is in her own eyes makes Adora clasp her fingers tighter in silent reassurance.

Bright Moon is brimming with people. Refugees fill the inns, and camps have been set up in every square. The castle’s hall is lined with tables brimming with food. From the moment she sets foot inside, Adora is beset upon by grateful citizens who thank her profusely for saving the world. Every time, Adora pats Catra’s shoulder, or squeezes her hand or even once wraps an arm around Catra’s waist before replying, “I could never have done it without Catra.”

And then, invariably, the person whom she’s speaking to will try to look at Catra and fail and mumble some kind of “erahemthanksCatra.”

At least none of them are leading with their fists, like Frosta. Really, she should be grateful. Which, of course, she is—so absurdly grateful. For Shadow Weaver’s sacrifice, for Adora loving her back, for their love giving Adora the strength to free and heal Etheria. Every time Catra thinks about that last part, she feels a little dizzy. There’s a voice inside her head telling her she’s wrong—that of course, Adora doesn’t _really_ need her. That Adora would, in the end, have found a way to save the world without her.

But then there’s another, louder voice—which sounds suspiciously like Entrapta yelling that data never lies—reminding her that Adora had been resigned to failure before Catra confessed her love. So, it’s true: Adora never could have done it without her. Which means that if Adora hadn’t rescued her on Prime’s ship all those weeks ago, the universe would be in smithereens right now.

Wait. Adora only rescued her because _she_ rescued Glimmer. So do they all actually have _Princess Sparkles_ to thank for saving the world? This thought is both hilarious and nauseating, and now the dizziness is back. The need to be alone is suddenly overwhelming.

“Um,” she says, interrupting the Bright Moon citizen who is babbling on about Adora’s awesomeness. “I have to—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence before turning to thread her way through the crowd, toward the large glowing doors that lead to the garden. Does anything in this city _not_ glitter?

The night is cool, and there are fewer people outside. She moves from shadow to shadow, avoiding them all until she finds an unoccupied bench in a quiet alcove under a tree. Once she is finally sitting still, exhaustion descends like a cloak, smothering her will. Her thoughts chase each other through a foggy maze. Whenever her eyelids start to close, she sees Prime’s face and jerks awake again.

“Catra! There you are.” Bow appears, holding a plate piled high with food. “Adora asked me to find you. She said—” he scrunches up his face as he tries to remember, “‘I know you want to be alone right now, but you haven’t eaten in forever so please don’t be mad.’” Bow extends the plate. “So, um, here you go. I really hope you’re not mad.”

Catra takes the plate. There is a sound welling up in her throat, but she doesn’t know if it will be a laugh or a sob. She swallows it down. “Thanks,” she says hoarsely. “And no, I’m not mad.”

“Oh, good!” Bow smiles encouragingly, then seems to remember Adora’s words. “Well. I’ll go now.”

“No,” Catra says before she can think. “Stay… if you want.”

Bow gives her a grateful look. “To be honest, I could use a break from the crowds, too.”

Once Catra starts to eat, she realizes just how ravenous she is. It’s a struggle not to devour her food in a way that would probably turn Bow’s stomach. While she tries to practice moderation, he chatters away about the refugees and the “yay, we saved the world” celebration that’s already being planned. By the time she’s trying not to lick the plate, the fog has disappeared from her head and she doesn’t feel dizzy anymore.

“Wow! You were really hungry. Do you want some more?”

“No. But thanks.” She tries to smile at him, but it clearly doesn’t work.

“Is something wrong?”

She’s unsure of how much to tell him. The whole notion of a Best Friend Squad is still new and strange and uncomfortable, but Bow has always been kind to her, even when she didn’t remotely deserve it. Which, to be fair, she still doesn’t.

“It’s okay,” he says into the silence. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I… I think I want to.” She clears her throat. “Adora keeps telling people she couldn’t have, you know, saved everything without me. But if I hadn’t saved Glimmer, you wouldn’t have come for me, and then I remembered why Glimmer was on Prime’s ship in the first place, and…” she trails off, feeling the food churn uneasily in her stomach.

Bow doesn’t speak right away. The longer his silence lasts, the more Catra worries that by connecting the dots for him, she has reminded him of what a terrible person she is—definitely someone not worthy of his friendship.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” he says finally. Catra is about to call him on how ridiculous that statement is, because whatever mistakes he’s made positively _pale_ in comparison to hers, when he continues, “And we’ve all tried our best to make up for those mistakes. But let me tell you something, Catra.” He leans forward. “Once Adora knew you were on that ship, I don’t think she could have left you there. Even if you hadn’t rescued Glimmer. Even if you hadn’t apologized.”

This knocks the breath from her lungs. Catra sits there, staring at Bow, knowing she must look stupid. He stares right back, unflinching.

“You really think?” she finally croaks.

“I really do,” he says. “You should have seen Adora’s face when she heard your voice in that transmission. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. You tried to fix what you could. You sacrificed yourself to save Glimmer. I wish you hadn’t had to do that, but I’m grateful for it.”

Catra closes her eyes against more tears. It’s embarrassing how much she’s cried in the past day. “Thanks for not giving up on me,” she whispers.

He stands and offers her his arm. “What do you think? Ready to go back inside?”

The need to see and touch Adora is suddenly overwhelming. She smiles, and it’s a real one this time. She takes Bow’s arm. “Ready.”

Inside, Sea Hawk presses mugs of punch into their hands and urges them to join him in a shanty. Catra laughs at Mermista’s groan, but there are plenty of joyful refugees to indulge him. Their song, nonsensical and cheerfully dissonant, rises up toward the cathedral ceiling.

The crowd swirls like a living organism, parting just enough for Catra to catch a glimpse of Adora. She is standing between Perfuma and Scorpia, laughing at something one of them has said. She is so incredibly beautiful.

Catra has long practice at tamping down that thought. For most of her life, she has lashed out in violence against her own feelings. But those feelings saved the world today. Her love for Adora—their love for each other—is good and pure and true.

There’s no way Adora can know Catra is looking at her, but somehow, she does. When their gazes meet across the room, Adora’s smile is bright and open and loving. They start toward each other simultaneously. A few people hail Adora as she passes, but she doesn’t seem to hear them. When they meet at the center of the hall, Adora clasps Catra’s hands and leans their foreheads together.

“I missed you,” she says.

“You are such a dork,” Catra says. “I was gone for, like, an hour.”

Adora just keeps smiling. “I still missed you.”

Catra steps forward so they are embracing and leans her head against Adora’s shoulder. People are probably staring at them, wondering how it’s possible for She-Ra to love Catra of the Evil Horde. Let them wonder. Their love is magic.

“Yeah. I missed you, too.”


	2. Princess Slumber Par-tay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girlfriends? The word makes Catra’s tail twitch. She and Adora haven’t talked about being girlfriends—they haven’t had the chance to talk about anything, really—but when she catches sight of Adora’s face, her irritation fades. Adora is beaming and blushing, and if calling their incredibly complicated and universe-saving relationship girlfriends is what it takes to make her happy, then… girlfriends it is.
> 
> \---
> 
> A celebratory princess slumber party, featuring tiny food, group therapy, lingering Catra!guilt, and much cuddling. Still rated "T" (for now).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there is a relatively mild reference to suicidal ideation at one point in this chapter.

Glimmer materializes in front of them while they are still holding each other. Catra can’t stop every hair on her body from standing on end, though she does manage to suppress the instinct to attack. Still, it’s hard to celebrate that kind of progress when her heart is pounding in her ears and every cell in her body is begging her to claw something to shreds. If she hadn’t been able to control herself, every citizen of Bright Moon would have seen her lash out at their queen.

“I’m sorry!” Glimmer says sheepishly, and Catra wonders what she sees in her face. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’okay,” she chokes out.

Glimmer starts talking about tomorrow’s plans, and Adora offers a few suggestions. All the while, Adora’s hands are stroking Catra’s hair. Every touch conveys comfort and love, and she soaks it in like rain on a desert. As her adrenaline starts to ebb, fatigue and the dull burn of shame take its place. She disentangles herself from Adora’s arms, though she does keep hold of one hand.

“And for tonight,” Glimmer says, “princess slumber party in my room!” She grins slyly at Catra. “Princess girlfriends are also invited.”

 _Girlfriends?_ The word makes Catra’s tail twitch. She and Adora haven’t talked about being _girlfriends—_ they haven’t had the chance to talk about anything, really—but when she catches sight of Adora’s face, her irritation fades. Adora is beaming and blushing, and if calling their incredibly complicated and universe-saving relationship _girlfriends_ is what it takes to make her happy, then… girlfriends it is.

“Does that include Bow?” she fires back.

Glimmer draws herself up, and sparkles fly around her. “All forms of significant others are welcome,” she says through gritted teeth.

Catra has to laugh at her exasperation, which makes Glimmer laugh too, and the remaining tension between them dissolves. Is this really how it will be from now on—moments of awkwardness and hurt feelings that are laughed off or quickly forgiven? Catra is so accustomed to holding grudges. Can she really do without them?

“Glimmer’s slumber parties are awesome,” Adora says, looking at her with a hopeful expression. Catra falls in love with her all over again for not just assuming she’d want to go, and for the way she’s biting at her lower lip.

“Of course we’ll be there,” Catra says. She’s rewarded by another one of those dazzling Adora-smiles.

“Great! See you soon.” Glimmer poofs away.

“So, you do this sleepover thing often, huh?” Catra says before Adora can ask if she’s okay. The thought of Adora cuddling up with Glimmer and Bow and Perfuma and Horde-knows-who-else makes her feel antsy, and she clenches her free hand.

“The first time was a few days after I arrived at Bright Moon!” Adora’s excitement suddenly deflates. She clears her throat and won’t meet Catra’s eyes. “Anyway. They really are fun.”

Catra thinks she knows why Adora can’t look at her. A few days after she’d arrived at Bright Moon was also a few days after Adora had left her. A few days after their confrontation at Thaymor. She touches Adora’s cheek.

“Look, it’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t… freak out.”

Adora rests one hand over hers, keeping it pressed to her face. “I couldn’t sleep by myself at first,” she says quietly. “I told Glimmer it was because the Horde cadets all sleep in the barracks together and I wasn’t used to being alone, but the truth is, I missed you. So much.”

Catra remembers her own sleepless nights and violent rages—the scratches she gouged in Adora’s bedding, the shriek of claws against metal as she defaced the silly sketch they had drawn together. She remembers lying awake for hours each night, unacknowledged tears leaking from her eyes as Adora’s scent slowly faded from her life. She takes a deep breath, filling herself up to banish the memories. Adora loves her. Adora _stayed_.

“Yeah,” she says. “That was a bad time. But it’s over now, right?” She squeezes Adora’s hand. “So show me what all the fuss is about.”

Of course, it takes longer than planned for them to get to Glimmer’s room. Now that they’re no longer obviously _having a moment,_ every single Etherian they pass feels the need to thank Adora all over again. Many of them touch Adora, too—a hand on her shoulder or arm, sometimes even a hug. Catra feels the growl welling up in her throat, but the sounds of the crowd mask it until they finally make it to the privacy of the corridor.

“Whoa,” Adora says after the guards shut the doors behind them. “Why the scary noises?”

“Doesn’t it bother you that everyone feels entitled to put their hands all over you?” The words emerge on a snarl.

Adora considers this for a moment. “They don’t mean any harm by it,” she finally says. “I think in a way, touching me comforts them.” A light flush sets off her freckles. “That sounds conceited. Never mind.”

Catra snorts. “Your head _is_ huge. Especially as She-Ra.”

Adora swats at her, but Catra dodges easily. They chase each other down the corridor like they’re kids back in the Fright Zone, tussling without malice. It feels so _good—_ like they’re the only people in the world. The game ends when Catra pounces, and instead of resisting, Adora lets herself fall. For a moment, Catra worries she’s hurt her yet again, but Adora is smiling up at her fondly. Catra becomes suddenly aware of Adora’s body beneath hers—the strength in her legs, the rise and fall of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, the surprisingly delicate arch of her collarbone.

Catra’s mouth is suddenly dry, heart hammering against her ribs. She has always ached for Adora, but it feels different now. A sharp, unfamiliar urgency rises inside her—a _need_ to close all the space between them. Adora’s eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted. When she moistens them with her tongue, Catra feels as though she’s been struck by lightning. She leans in slowly, watching Adora’s pupils expand.

The nearest door bangs open. “Guys!” A voice that sounds suspiciously like Entrapta shouts. “They’re right outside! And I think they’re going to _KISS_!”

Catra looks over her shoulder to see Entrapta holding the door open with her hair. Several princesses, Bow, and Sea Hawk suddenly appear in the gap, staring at them intently.

“Did we miss it?” Perfuma asks.

Catra leaps to her feet. She desperately wants to scream at them all to go away, but that’s not something a friend would do, right? Instead, she ignores them and extends a hand to Adora, whose face is _flaming._

“Uh, hey everyone,” she says. “I, um, tripped.”

“And Catra conveniently tripped on top of you?” Glimmer asks, too sweetly.

“Ye-es?” When Adora scuffs one foot against the ground, Catra swears her heart is melting. These feelings are ridiculous, but she doesn’t want them to stop.

“Get in here, you crazy kids,” Scorpia says. “We’ve been waiting to eat the tiny food!”

“Literally everyone in Bright Moon had to hug Adora _again_ before we could leave,” Catra grumbles.

As she steps over the threshold, she freezes. The room is decorated in every shade of pink imaginable, and the floor is covered with pillows of all shapes and sizes. A bed is suspended from the ceiling, swathed in pink and purple blankets. Perfuma has filled every available surface with flowers. All the pastels make Catra’s teeth hurt.

“This is my very first sleepover!” Entrapta says. “I am _so_ looking forward to cataloging all the social interactions.”

Catra hangs back while everyone chooses a pillow. This is chaotic and joyful and silly, nothing like the Horde barracks. She curls her tail tightly around one leg, trying not to look at Adora. She should probably find somewhere else to sit that isn’t next to her. Haven’t they embarrassed themselves enough? And is she really that codependent?

But then Adora says, “Catra?” in that wistful tone that makes her feel like mush, and she has to look. Adora smiles and pats the pillow in front of hers.

In the end, Catra kicks aside the pillow and sits on the floor. Adora shifts her knees up, and Catra settles between them, letting her tail curl around Adora’s ankle. Adora runs her fingers through the short hairs on the back of Catra’s neck, just above the scar left by Prime’s chip. She can’t keep from purring, though she does it as quietly as possible, so only Adora can hear. Is it normal to feel such profound _relief_ at being touched like this?

Who cares what’s _normal._ Who even wants to be normal, anyway?

They pass around platters of tiny food, which were apparently made in a collaborative effort between Entrapta’s kitchen staff and wrong-Hordak. Catra can’t help but feel relieved that he wasn’t invited to the slumber party. She’s not sure she can handle sleeping in the same room with one of the clones just yet. Or ever.

“To saving Etheria!” Glimmer raises a pink fizzy beverage into the air, and Adora shoves an identical bottle into Catra’s hand so she can join in the toast. The drink goes right up her nose, which makes her sneeze.

“Are you even serious?” says Mermista. “ _That’s_ your sneeze?”

“I know, right?” exclaims Bow.

Glimmer puts down her drink and looks first at Catra, then at Adora. “What happened, in the Heart? Will you tell us?”

Suddenly, Catra is there again. When was it—this morning? This afternoon? She doesn’t know for sure. It feels so long ago, and yet she will never forget the fear flooding through her as Adora lay limp in her arms, Prime’s virus tattooing her skin. _Stay._

Adora sits up straighter, but she keeps one hand on Catra’s shoulder. “The First Ones left a guardian to protect the Heart. Shadow Weaver sacrificed herself so Catra and I could get to it. But…” She falters. “I couldn’t transform. Prime was already tapping into the Heart, and his presence was infecting me.”

The distress in Adora’s voice makes Catra want to kill something. If Melog were here, they would be bright red and angry. She takes a deep breath and hooks one arm around Adora’s knee, holding her close.

“Prime started unleashing the destructive magic of the Heart,” Adora’s voice is a little shaky, but the silence around her is absolute. Everyone in the room is hanging on her words. “I couldn’t summon She-Ra. I gave up.” She swallows hard. “But then, Catra told me she loved me. She asked me to stay. And in that moment, I could feel She-Ra again. I was able to summon a shield to protect us from the Heart’s energy blasts.”

“Wo-oowwwww,” Entrapta murmurs, drawing out the syllable.

Catra can feel them all looking at her. She stares at her toes. Several of her claws are jagged and bloody from her fight with the guardian. She wonders what these princesses and their goody-two-shoes friends are thinking. Are they actively upset or just disappointed? There’s no way they are _not_ judging her.

“ThenCatrakissedmeandItransformedintoShe-Raandtherestyouknow,” Adora says, all in one breath.

There is a long silence, during which Adora buries her face in Catra’s neck. It feels really, really good. The vulnerability of this gesture gives Catra the courage to raise her eyes. Glimmer is leaning into Bow and literally sparkling with joy. Bow himself looks like he might actually explode. Sea Hawk is definitely about to start singing at any moment, and Mermista has stopped scowling for once in her life. Scorpia is holding her pincers beneath her chin, grinning like an idiot. Frosta is the only one who looks skeptical.

“Gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“The universe was saved by true love’s kiss?” Perfuma clasps her hands together, eyes starry. “I think I might swoon!”

“If you swoon, I will be here to catch you!” Scorpia declares.

“Can you even swoon while sitting down?” Catra mutters between clenched teeth. But incredibly, she feels herself starting to relax. They don’t hate her for loving their precious Adora. They’re…accepting it. Accepting her. They even seem pretty happy about it, though maybe that’s just because their kiss saved the world.

Their kiss saved the world. The realization gobsmacks her all over again.

Adora raises her head. “So um, how about you? What happened on the surface while we were in the Heart?”

“Oh, no,” Glimmer says. “We are not changing the subject yet.”

“Why not?” Frosta groans.

“We must devise the ‘Ballad of Catradora’ immediately!” Sea Hawk proclaims.

“Huh,” says Mermista, looking at Catra. “You’re just going to let him give you a couple’s pet name without killing him? You really have changed.”

Catra smirks. “What’s not to like? My name comes first.”

Adora gives her a playful shove. “You are so annoying.”

Catra shifts to rest her head on Adora’s knee. This way, she can see Adora’s face, which is still bright red. Catra bats her eyelashes. “But you looooove me.”

“Yeah,” Adora says, and the teasing is gone from her voice. She cups Catra’s cheek. “I do.”

“The cuteness is going to kill me!” Bow exclaims.

“Post-Horde-Prime Etheria, Day One,” Entrapta says into her recorder. “The development of romantic relationships is _fascinating._ I must learn more!”

Perfuma creates matching flower-leis around their necks, and Catra starts to think that maybe, just maybe, these ridiculous people are happy for her and Adora, not just about what they did. Still, it really is past time they moved on to other topics. She puts one hand over Adora’s and squeezes, then sits up.

“All right already!” she says loudly. Everyone stops talking, which is highly gratifying. “I…” she looks at Adora. “ _We_ appreciate all the, uh, whatever this is. But seriously, what happened in the battle?”

“It was pretty awful,” Glimmer says, her expression solemn. “Having to fight my dad was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“Fighting friends was hard, too,” Perfuma says. She puts a hand on Scorpia’s shoulder. “I never thanked you for what you did to help us escape. For sacrificing yourself that way.”

This bit of news raises the hackles on Catra’s tail. “What is it with you princesses and your hero complexes?” she growls. “I mean it! There _are_ other ways of solving problems.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but a kiss wasn’t going to cut it,” Mermista says acidly. “I was chipped and trying to drown everyone. Scorpia held off my attack so the others could escape.”

“Without her, we wouldn’t have been able to get word to you about the blockade,” Perfuma says, now stroking Scorpia’s arm.

Scorpia looks bashful. “It was the least I could do, after…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Catra knows how it ends. _After all the times I hurt you._ They have both hurt everyone else in this room. Repeatedly. The difference is that Catra also repeatedly hurt Scorpia. And, okay, there are some other differences, too. After all, Scorpia never tried to destroy the planet.

Catra glances at Glimmer. They still haven’t talked about the portal. About her mother. About how Angella’s death is all Catra’s fault. Bile rises into her throat on a wave of guilt, and she swallows it down with effort. She is _not_ going to be the one who vomits tiny food all over the stupid fancy pillows.

“What was it like, being chipped?” Frosta directs the question to Mermista and Scorpia, but it hits Catra like a blow.

_Cast out the shadows!_

_Cast out the shadows!_

_All beings must suffer to become pure!_

The mantra knifes through Catra’s head, making her vision swim and her ears flatten. When she can see clearly again, she realizes that Scorpia has gone very pale. She looks haunted.

“It was bad,” Mermista says, without her usual ennui. “Prime used me, used my powers, and… I couldn’t stop him.” She looks first at Sea Hawk, then at Perfuma and Frosta. “I could see myself hurting you. I wanted to stop. But I couldn’t.”

Scorpia is nodding. “There was a part of me screaming the whole time,” she says hoarsely. “After a while, I hoped that part would die.”

Her words, so filled with despair and unlike anything she’s ever said before, makes Catra’s breath catch. She remembers the scream in her own mind as she sank her claws into Adora’s back on Prime’s ship. There were so many times when she hurt Adora of her own free will, and those memories return in her nightmares. But Prime’s possession was different. For once, _she_ hadn’t wanted to hurt Adora. He had made her do it anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” Perfuma is saying, her eyes welling up as she strokes Scorpia’s arm. “And I’m so glad you didn’t. Die, I mean.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Glimmer’s voice is edged with steel. “If it hadn’t been for me, Prime never would have found us. None of you would have been chipped. None of this would have happened.”

Adora shifts behind Catra, and the comforting hand that has never left her shoulder falls away. “No, it’s my fault. I should have broken the sword sooner! If I had, Light Hope would never have been able to teleport Etheria out of Despondos.”

Catra doesn’t really know what she’s talking about, but it’s clear that Adora is yet again trying to take the blame for everything, which is completely ludicrous and also so very _her._

“Stop it!” Bow shouts before she can tell Adora how stupid she’s being. The uncharacteristic sharpness in his voice shuts everyone up. “Glimmer, you didn’t mean to let Prime find us. And Adora, the sword was made to control you! Competing for the blame isn’t helping.”

“It isn’t healthy, either,” Perfuma adds.

“In the end, we won the day!” Sea Hawk says. “Let’s focus on that, shall we?”

“Glimmer!” Entrapta exclaims. Catra turns to see her holding Glimmer’s magic wand thing. “I think I’ve discovered a way to upgrade your staff so it can shoot magic bolts!”

When Frosta starts to laugh at this outrageous non sequitur, Glimmer does, too. The tension in the room dissipates, and the conversation turns to the details of the forthcoming celebration. Mermista and Frosta start to bicker about who gets to design the ice sculptures, while Sea Hawk wistfully remarks to no one in particular that it’s too bad Bright Moon doesn’t have any boats that can be set on fire to mark the occasion. Catra turns to look at Adora, who is smiling as she watches her friends. When the expression is broken by a jaw-cracking yawn, Catra nudges her.

“You okay?”

“Tired,” Adora admits, leaning against her. “You?”

“Yeah. It’s been… a day.”

Adora laughs. “You can say that again.” Her expression softens. “Thank you. For coming back.”

There are too many emotions clogging Catra’s throat. “Yeah, well. Thanks for staying.”

“Lie down with me?” Adora rearranges a few pillows, then pats the space next to her.

Catra feels supremely self-conscious as she lies down next to Adora and stares up at the ceiling. They’ve never slept like this; in the Horde, she always slept at the foot of Adora’s bed. She wants to hold Adora’s hand, but the room is full of other people, and maybe that will make Adora feel weird? Though they _have_ been cuddling this whole time…

“Turn onto your side,” Adora whispers. Catra dares to meet her eyes. They are heavy-lidded, but still so full of love. She turns to face Adora, but Adora shakes her head. “No, the other way.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” Confused, Catra does what she asks. She understands a moment later, when Adora wraps an arm around her waist and buries her face in the nape of Catra’s neck. Adora’s palm presses lightly against Catra’s stomach, holding her close. Adora’s scent enfolds her, comforting and familiar. Catra closes her eyes against a fresh swell of tears. When has she ever felt so safe, so loved?

That’s easy. Never.

To her mortification, Catra starts to tremble.

“Is something wrong?” Adora’s breath is warm against her ear.

“I’m okay,” Catra whispers. She doesn’t know how to describe what she’s feeling, but Adora deserves some explanation for why she’s quaking like a leaf. “It’s just… so much. You. This. Us.”

“I know.” Adora tightens her hold. “I know. I’ve got you.”

After a while, the trembling stops. Conversations rise and fall around them. When Adora kisses her neck, Catra’s tail wraps around both their legs, bringing their bodies closer together. Adora is warm against her back, protecting her even now.

“This is nice,” Adora slurs sleepily.

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Catra smiles and closes her eyes. Lassitude spreads through her limbs. For the first time in her life, she feels… cherished. Content. _Please don’t ever let go of me, Adora,_ she thinks. _I need you._ Someday, she will say that out loud.

She wants to stay awake—to savor the sensation of Adora holding her, the steady rise and fall of her breaths. All too soon, exhaustion pulls her under.

In the darkness, Prime is waiting. He looms above her, each eye blinking separately. He is smiling.

“Greetings, little sister,” he says.

Acrid fear fills Catra’s mouth, sluices down her spine. “No,” she tries to shout, but the words emerge as as a whisper. “You’re _gone._ ”

He laughs. “My legacy lives on. In you. In the others who were once my brothers and sisters. You will never be free of me.”

Catra shakes her head and tries to scramble away. Wherever she turns, he is there. She is trapped.

“Do you really believe they will forgive you?” He sounds amused. “They will never forget what you have done. I know every wrong you have ever committed against them, little sister. Prime sees all.”

“They’re not like you,” Catra forces the words out. Her lips are dry and cracked.

“No,” he says, bending close. “But _you_ are.”


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her stomach heaves. She can’t stay here. All she does is hurt people. One kiss can’t make up for how many times she has hurt Adora. A thousand kisses wouldn’t be enough. Prime was right—she is like him. She doesn’t want to be, but she is. The only way to protect those she loves is to leave them.
> 
> Silently shouting for Melog, she tries to run in the opposite direction from Adora. All she manages are three staggering steps before her knees give out and she crashes to the floor, then vomits into the nearest potted plant. Over the thundering in her ears, she hears Adora’s footsteps getting closer.
> 
> \---
> 
> In which nightmares abound, as does Hurt/Comfort.

Catra wakes screaming. Something or someone is holding her down—a clone?—and she lashes out against it. There is a sharp, bitten-off cry of pain as the restraint falls away. Catra springs to her feet, searching for a way out. She registers the vague impression of bodies on the floor before she locates the door and leaps through it.

She finds herself in a corridor. The floor is made of a pale blue translucent substance that casts off a muted glow. In the ambient light, she sees the elegant walls sloping upward. Each door is outlined in gold trim. She freezes, tail lashing. This isn’t the Horde flagship. This is Bright Moon. Is Prime in her mind again?

“Get _OUT!_ ” she screams, raising both hands to her head, claws pricking her skin, wishing she could physically tear him from her mind.

Bright Moon. A memory is trying to surface through the pounding inside her skull. Adora as She-Ra, carrying her from Prime’s ship. Adora, lying so still in her arms while Catra pleads with her to stay. Adora, saying she loves Catra back. The softness and heat and _rightness_ of Adora’s mouth pressed to hers.

What if these aren’t memories? What if they are yet another part of Prime’s torment?

She pulls a shaking hand down to the back of her neck. The skin is slightly raised in a diamond scar. No chip. The memories are real. She and Adora saved the world, and then they had that ridiculous slumber party where she fell asleep and had a nightmare. That’s all.

Catra bows her head, panting. Embarrassment seeps in around the edges of her lingering fear. She’s probably woken everyone up—one more thing for which to apologize. At that moment, Glimmer’s door bangs open to reveal Adora, hair tousled and eyes frantic. Blood streams from her left arm. That’s when Catra remembers the cry of pain she heard just before she left the room. No restraints or clones had been holding her down. Her fevered brain interpreted Adora’s gentle embrace as a threat.

When their eyes meet, Adora’s expression turns to relief. “Catra! It’s all right.” She extends her uninjured arm. “It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.”

Catra scrabbles backward until she encounters a wall. “ _Nothing_ is okay!” she snarls. “I hurt you. _Again_!”

“You didn’t mean to,” Adora’s voice is soothing, but Catra can’t take her eyes off the blood that has soaked through Adora’s shirt and is dripping steadily onto the immaculate floor. _Drip, drip, drip_. Her claws cut deep. She looks down at them, noting the drying flecks of blood around the nail beds. Adora’s blood.

Her stomach heaves. She can’t stay here. All she does is hurt people. One kiss can’t make up for how many times she has hurt Adora. A thousand kisses wouldn’t be enough. Prime was right—she is like him. She doesn’t want to be, but she is. The only way to protect those she loves is to leave them.

Silently shouting for Melog, she tries to run in the opposite direction from Adora. All she manages are three staggering steps before her knees give out and she crashes to the floor, then vomits into the nearest potted plant. Over the thundering in her ears, she hears Adora’s footsteps getting closer.

“Stay away from me!” she croaks.

“No.” Adora kneels next to her and rests one gentle hand on her back. “I’m not leaving you again. Not ever.”

Catra wipes her disgusting mouth with the back of one hand and turns to meet Adora’s gaze. “This isn’t going to work.”

Adora sighs. There are smudges under her eyes. “Pushing me away is what’s not going to work, Catra.”

“Look at your arm! How can you ever trust me?”

Adora looks at her injury, then back to Catra. “Tell me about the nightmare.”

“No.”

Her jaw tightens. “Tell me, or I won’t heal myself.”

Before Prime, Catra would have allowed Adora to suffer. She would have been happy to make her hurt. Now, it is unconscionable. Under that unflinching, loving gaze, Catra’s anger gives way to despair. Wracking sobs burn her throat, finding their way out despite her effort to suppress them. She curls herself into a tight ball, but Adora never withdraws her touch. All the while, the staccato drip of her blood marks the passage of time.

“Prime was in my head,” Catra chokes out between shuddering breaths. “He t-told me I was his legacy. That I’d never be free of him. That…” Her stomach churns again, and she closes her eyes, undeserving of the love she sees in Adora’s face. “That I’m like him.”

Adora’s hand cups her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Then her touch is gone, and Catra blinks as light fills the corridor. She-Ra stands before her, hair and cape billowing in the wind of her transformation. Catra remembers the golden surge of that energy all around her, the lightning tang as her kiss ignited the magic. Her kiss.

_Not enough._

“You’re nothing like Prime,” She-Ra says. “He only knew how to destroy. He never loved anything except himself. That’s not who you are. Your love saved all of us.”

She stoops to pick Catra up, cradling her gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Catra feels hollow, as though someone has scooped out her insides. As much as she wants to remain aloof, she can’t help but lean her forehead against She-Ra’s biceps. “Yeah.”

“Adora?” Glimmer’s voice is an unwelcome interjection. “Is she all right? Are you?”

“We will be,” She-Ra says. Catra wishes she shared her confidence. “I’m taking her to my room for the rest of the night.”

“Glimmer.” Catra forces herself to turn and look at the Queen of Bright Moon. It’s humiliating to do this while she’s being carried, but she presses on. “I’m… sorry. For the screaming and the… the blood. On your pillows.”

“Are you seriously apologizing for having a nightmare?” Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Get some rest.”

She-Ra carries Catra down the hall and stops at another door. When Melog suddenly appears, She-Ra tenses. “I know you wanted to run again,” she says, and it’s clear she is speaking to both of them. There is a hitch in her words, incongruous with the coiled strength of her body. “Will you promise to stay here tonight?”

Melog noses Catra’s dangling foot. Adora is asking her for one night, not all of them. Catra can always leave tomorrow without breaking any promises. Besides, she is so very tired.

“Fine, I promise,” she says. Melog breaks into a rumbling purr.

She-Ra puts her down gently, keeping a firm hand on her shoulder as weak legs find their footing. Leaning against Melog helps. They glow blue. In the next instant, She-Ra is gone and Adora is bracing herself against the doorpost. For a moment, she looks drained and a little sad, and Catra wants nothing more than to hold her. Before she can reach out despite herself, Adora blinks and straightens her spine, and she is once again radiating an aura of competence. Catra wonders how much the performance costs her.

“This door leads to the floor’s bathing chamber,” Adora says. “I’ll find some clean clothes for you.”

Catra opens the door, grateful when Melog goes in first, as though this is enemy territory that must be patrolled. The chamber is empty, and she follows them inside on a wave of relief. Heated pools dot the floor. Beyond, there is the sound of running water. She follows it to a chamber in which a broad waterfall sends up a cool spray. After a brief hesitation, she peels off her clothes and steps under the stream. Catra has never enjoyed water, and she soaps herself quickly, eager to dry her ears. When she slides into one of the pools, however, she starts to reevaluate. She can practically feel her muscles unknotting under the influence of the heat. With a sigh, she leans her head back against the edge and stares up the ceiling. Her thoughts are disjointed, chasing each other in circles. There is an icy knot of dread in her chest that no amount of warmth can dissolve.

Adora returns with a small stack of clothes which she sets down on a nearby table. She offers Catra a lopsided smile that makes her heart ache, but she says nothing, and neither does Catra. When Adora goes into the waterfall room, Catra thinks about how she must look, standing naked under the spray, water trickling along the unbroken skin knitted together by She-Ra’s power. The thought brings a hint of warmth to the cold place inside her.

Catra watches through slitted eyes as Adora, wreathed in steam, submerges herself in a pool at the opposite end of the room. Adora is giving her space without her having to push for it. That’s new. The problem is: now that Catra has that space, she isn’t sure she wants it.

“I am so messed up,” she breathes. Steam carries the words away. She climbs out of the pool and puts on the Horde-standard top and sleep shorts. Adora must have asked the Bright Moon tailor to make these. They bring back memories of other, simpler sleepovers.

Adora meets her at the door and holds it open. She hates awkward pauses and has always filled them with nervous chatter, but as she leads Catra down the hall, the silence grows heavier. Catra watches the damp ends of Adora’s hair swish against her shoulders. She wants to run her fingers through it. Instead, she pictures Adora’s arm dripping blood.

Adora opens another door and steps into a large, circular room, its bed obscured by curtains. She parts them and sits on the mattress, drawing her knees up to her chest.

“I’m not sleeping on that bed with you.” Catra’s ears are flat against her head.

Adora flinches, but all she says is, “Okay.” She holds out one of the blankets.

On the floor, Catra lies on her back, head pillowed against Melog, grateful that the room is not completely dark. Adora’s breaths are too fast for her to be asleep. Catra remembers the sensation of Adora’s arm around her waist, the gentle kiss on her neck. She wants so badly to be held again and to hold Adora in return. Instead, she pushes her forehead into Melog’s fur and pulls the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She slips into a shallow doze, but each time she slides closer to true sleep, a wave of panic startles her into wakefulness, heart racing.

She’s fully awake when Adora starts to thrash. Catra wonders who she’s fighting. Prime? Shadow-Weaver?

“Catra,” Adora mumbles. Then, she groans softly. “Catra, _no._ ”

Catra clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut, hating herself. She can only imagine the terrible things she is doing in Adora’s dream right now—hurting her, threatening her friends, trying to destroy Etheria. If there was anything left in her stomach, Catra would be sick again. She promised Adora she would stay through the night, but how can she bear this?

“Catra, no, _please!_ ”

Catra sits up, shivering, as Melog starts to growl. They glow a muted crimson. She wraps her arms around herself to keep from plugging her ears. She deserves to hear Adora’s pain.

“Please, _please_ don’t go!” Adora’s voice breaks on the final syllable.

The epiphany rocks her, and before she can consciously decide anything, she is on her feet. She isn’t hurting Adora in her dream—not physically. She’s leaving. Like she always does. Like she wanted to do tonight.

And Adora is begging her to stay.

Instinct drives her onto the bed. Before she can second-guess herself, Catra puts a hand on Adora’s shoulder. “Adora,” she whispers urgently. “Adora, wake up. It’s okay. You’re dreaming. I’m… I’m here.”

Even as she says the words, it’s hard to believe they are what Adora needs to hear. But then Adora’s eyes open, wet and wild. When they focus, she makes a visceral groaning sound that tears Catra’s heart in two. Adora clutches at her, burying her face beneath Catra’s chin. Hot tears drip onto her skin. Catra pulls her close, so close, twining their legs together. Adora is shaking with the force of her sobs, and Catra gently runs her hands along Adora’s back in long, slow strokes.

“I c-can’t lose you again,” Adora stammers.

Catra feels like she is the one bleeding now. Earlier, when Adora was pretending to be strong, she asked for one night. Now, in her vulnerability, she is asking for all of them. Catra’s throat closes on a promise she doesn’t know whether she can keep. If she can’t stop hurting Adora, how can she stay?

“I love you,” she says into Adora’s hair. It’s the only truth she has.

Adora raises her head. Her eyes are red and raw. Even mottled and tearstained, she is so beautiful. She touches her lips to Catra’s, and for a moment, the world is still as they breathe each other in.

Then, the kiss… _changes._ Adora’s fingers tighten their grip and she presses closer, as if wanting to eliminate even the suggestion of space between them. Catra pushes back, meeting her half way. Their other kisses have been soft, tender. This kiss feels like sparring. In the clash of their mouths, one of Catra’s fangs nicks Adora’s lower lip. Adora gasps.

A spike of fear pierces Catra, and she raises her head. “Did I hu—”

Adora silences her with another kiss, rolling onto her back and pulling Catra on top of her. Her hands cradle the back of Catra’s head, fingers roaming through her hair. Clumsily, Catra captures Adora’s lip again. When she sucks at it, Adora whimpers.

She _whimpers._

Catra is drunk on the feeling of Adora beneath her, drunk on the way Adora’s mouth slides and pushes against hers. It’s an accident when their tongues brush, but the sensation is so exquisite that Catra cries out. She levers herself up just enough to meet Adora’s eyes. In the light of the Moonstone filtering through the window, they look like bruises. Catra can hear the thunder of Adora’s pulse, and she leans down to kiss the place on her neck where it flutters like a trapped moth.

“Catra,” Adora whispers. “Catra.”

Adora has never said her name in quite that tone before—reverential and pleading. Catra kisses her mouth again, and this time, she deliberately seeks out Adora’s tongue with her own. This new way of kissing is soft and earth-shattering and messy and perfect. When Adora shifts her hips, the smooth skin of her stomach glides against Catra’s abdomen. A strange heat pools low in her belly. Catra traps Adora’s head between her palms and deepens the kiss. Their tongues do battle—advance, skirmish, retreat. Over and over and over.

Only when she feels moisture against her face does Catra pull back. Tears are leaking from Adora’s eyes, trailing down her cheeks.

“No, don’t stop,” Adora mumbles. She tries to tug her down again, but Catra resists.

“What’s wrong?” Catra whispers. She strokes Adora’s face, collecting tears on her fingertips. More replace them.

Adora closes her eyes. She is trying to hide, and that hurts. Catra leans in to sip up the tears, her lips feather-light against Adora’s damp face. Gradually, the stream slows, then stops. Catra doesn’t stop kissing her, coaxing the tiny residual salt crystals free of her skin.

Finally, Adora takes a shaky breath and opens her eyes. “You told me you loved me. You asked me to stay. And now _you_ won’t?”

Catra's hypocrisy is an unavoidable truth, but it doesn’t change anything. “I want to stay. But I can’t keep hurting you.”

Adora digs her fingers into Catra’s scalp. It feels amazing. “You only hurt me when you run. We can work through this.”

“How?” Catra hears the desperation in her own voice only as she speaks the word.

“I don’t know. But we will.” Adora pulls her closer, cradling Catra’s head against her shoulder. “And in the meantime, if you have another nightmare, I’ll heal myself. Just like I did tonight.”

“That’s not an acceptable long-term solution,” Catra’s voice is muffled by Adora’s skin. The bright scent of her enfolds Catra like an embrace.

“I love you,” Adora says.

Catra intends to leave the bed and return to her Melog-pillow. Instead, sleep claims her while she is wrapped in Adora’s arms.


	4. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra climbs back onto the bed. She thinks about all the ways she has woken Adora over the years—with a pounce, with a kick, with a sharp elbow. Never the way she wanted to, until now. She leans down to kiss one corner of Adora’s mouth.
> 
> \---
> 
> In which Catra learns the difference between bad bruises and good bruises.

Catra wakes at a knock on the door. She is lying half on top of Adora: face pressed to the crook of her neck, an arm flung across her stomach, their legs intertwined. Miraculously, Adora sleeps through the second round of knocking. Catra slides off the bed as carefully as possible and opens the door just a crack. She puts one finger to her lips.

“Adora’s still sleeping,” she whispers.

Glimmer’s brows raise. “That is very unlike her.”

“I know.” Adora usually wakes at a pin drop, and she has always been an early riser.

“Is she okay?”

Catra isn’t certain how to answer. She hurt Adora both physically and emotionally last night, and that was on top of all the insanity at the Heart. Her body seems hale thanks to She-Ra, but all that healing takes a toll. Catra remembers the exhaustion she felt for days after Adora healed the injuries she sustained on Prime’s ship.

“I don’t know. Probably just tired.”

Glimmer frowns. “I don’t want to interrupt her rest, but that meeting with the Horde is in an hour.”

“We’ll be there,” Catra says.

“I’ll have breakfast sent up.”

Once Glimmer closes the door behind her, Catra returns to the bed. She pauses to stroke Melog’s head while watching Adora sleep. Her eyes are puffy, the skin beneath them raw. When Melog rumbles softly, Catra grits her teeth.

“I’m not convinced. What if she’s wrong, and nothing works, and it happens every night?”

Melog’s next sound is tinged with exasperation. Ignoring them, Catra climbs back onto the bed. She thinks about all the ways she has woken Adora over the years—with a pounce, with a kick, with a sharp elbow. Never the way she wanted to, until now. She leans down to kiss one corner of Adora’s mouth.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get up.”

Adora’s eyes flutter open. When they focus on Catra, a slow smile curves her lips, full of love and affection and a hint of awe. Catra feels suddenly light-headed. Adora raises one hand to touch her cheek.

“Catra,” she breathes. Then, she remembers. The smile dims, though it doesn’t disappear. “How are you feeling? Did… did you go back to sleeping on the floor?”

Catra is tempted to lie to her, but Melog’s low growl helps her check the impulse. “No, actually.”

“No?” This news seems to cheer her. “That’s great! And nothing bad happened. See?”

Catra has to look away from her earnest, hopeful expression. “Yeah.” She picks at a thread hanging off the blanket until Adora covers that hand with her own.

“Talk to me?”

This is so typically Adora—waking up exhausted after a difficult night and immediately worrying about everyone except herself.

“Sparkles was just here,” Catra says, not quite meeting her gaze. “That meeting with the Horde is in less than an hour.”

“Catra.” Adora begins to walk her fingers up Catra’s forearm. The sensation is remarkably pleasant, and Catra sucks in a sharp breath before she can control her reaction. “That’s not what I meant.”

It’s time for a different strategy. Catra is, after all, a master at outwitting She-Ra and her princess pals. Instead of answering, she leans down to kiss Adora, supporting her with one hand at the back of her neck.

Adora pulls away, blushing. “My breath must taste awful!”

Catra shows one fang. “Did I say that? And even if it does, do you think I care?” Without waiting for a response, she captures Adora’s lips again. This time, Adora relaxes into her embrace. Catra guides her head back to the pillow and luxuriates in the slip-slide of their mouths. She tries to pour everything she feels into this kiss, telling Adora without words what she has asked to know.

_I love you. I’m sorry. I’m scared. I need you. I want this, but I don’t know how._

Adora wraps her arms around Catra’s back, pulling her down so their bodies are flush, just as they were during the night. Catra suddenly becomes aware of Adora’s breasts pressing against hers, separated only by two thin layers of fabric. The realization knocks the wind from her lungs, and she raises her head to gulp in precious air.

“What—” Adora starts to say, but Catra’s attention has been drawn by the buttery soft skin of her neck, just beneath one ear. She leans in to kiss the spot once, then again. And again.

Adora’s fingers are in her hair, roaming restlessly. “Don’t think,” she says breathlessly, “that I don’t know what you’re d-doing.”

Belatedly, Catra realizes that neck-kissing is a poor tactic. Having liberated Adora’s mouth, she is now in for a lecture. The problem is this: kissing Adora’s neck is addictive. The thrum of Adora’s pulse beneath her lips is a drumbeat in her head, urging her on. She sucks gently, then harder, grazing the skin with her teeth. Adora shudders beneath her. Catra wants to mark her, to claim her, to lick a bruise into her flesh so everyone knows Adora is _hers._

The thought douses her ardor like cold water on fire and she pulls away, gasping. What kind of monster must she be, to want to _bruise_ Adora now, after causing her so much pain for so long?

“Catra?” Adora’s eyes are hazy, her pupils large and dark. “W-what happened?”

It takes every ounce of self control not to throw herself off the bed and run for the door. “I hurt you.”

Adora’s brows knit, confusion written in every line on her face. “What? Just then, you mean? No.” She blinks, shakes her head, and huffs out a breathless laugh _._

Is she laughing _at_ her? Catra scowls and tries to sit up. Her head aches and her heart hurts and she wants only to escape. But Adora won’t let her. She is holding on to Catra’s shoulders with She-Ra’s strength, eyes blazing a piercing blue.

“Stay right where you are. Why did you think you were hurting me?”

Catra closes her eyes. Maybe the truth is the only way to get through to her. “I wanted to—to leave a mark. A bruise. That’s _sick,_ Adora, and you can’t tell me otherw—”

Adora clamps one hand over her mouth. “Oh yes, I can,” she says vehemently. “I’m telling you right now. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t scare me. Why can’t you trust me? Don’t you think I would tell you if you kissed me in a way I didn’t want?”

Catra stares down at her, breathing hard. Adora’s firm grip precludes all conversation. “Mrmph,” she says, hoping Adora will get the point.

Frowning in suspicion, Adora pulls her palm away. The unearthly light in her eyes dims just a fraction, and a dusting of red rises to her cheeks. “To be clear: I, um, liked how it felt.”

“What if I _had_ bruised you?” Catra feels frantic and angry, but even single-handed, Adora’s grip is still too strong to break. “Why is that something I want?”

“I don’t know!” Adora’s voice rises in frustration. “You wanted that and I liked it. Isn’t that all that matters?”

Is it? Catra can’t be sure.

Her world turns literally upside-down as Adora rolls them so Catra is now the one on her back. Slack-jawed, fear momentarily forgotten, she stares up into Adora’s determined expression.

“Promise you’ll be honest if this doesn’t feel good,” she says.

Only then does Catra realize what’s going to happen. The knowledge is as startling as a punch to her gut, but it leaves behind a hot, shivery feeling. “P-promise.”

Adora slides one hand into Catra’s hair. As she leans down, more of their bodies touch, until Adora is lying fully on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Catra keeps her hands by her sides, claws sheathed. Miraculously, she doesn’t feel trapped or suffocated. She feels safe, but also her heart is pounding like it does before a fight. Except Adora isn’t going to fight her. They don’t do that anymore.

Adora kisses the base of her ear, then her jaw, then her chin. Finally, she kisses the same spot on Catra’s neck that precipitated this… discussion. Argument. Whatever this is. Catra exhales sharply and struggles to pull in a new breath. Adora kisses her again and again. Whenever her tongue flickers against Catra’s pulse, Catra shivers.

Adora rubs Catra’s scalp with gentle fingers and sucks lightly at the place she has peppered with kisses. She does it over and over, subtly increasing the pressure each time. The insistent pull of her lips sends a jolt of energy through Catra’s body. She arches into the sensation, baring more of her neck to Adora. Adora, her enemy for so long.

Adora takes her mouth away. “Okay?”

“Ye-es,” Catra whispers brokenly, unable to care how weak she sounds.

Adora returns her mouth to Catra’s neck. She sucks harder, then harder still. When her teeth graze the sensitive skin, a groan escapes Catra’s clenched jaw. She forgets why she was so invested in keeping her hands by her sides and wraps her arms around Adora, pulling her even closer. Exquisite twinges of almost-pain fork like lightning in the storm of sensation. Catra wants the maelstrom to catch her up and carry her away.

There is a knock at the door. When Adora raises her head, Catra tries to pull her back down. It’s nothing. No one.

Adora holds steady, muscles bunching against Catra’s grip. “Yes?” she calls breathlessly.

“Your breakfast, Princess,” comes the reply.

Right. The palace guard who is bringing them food on Queen Glimmer’s orders. Catra fantasizes briefly about clawing him to pieces before realizing this thought is unworthy of a reformed individual. Reforming. Whatever.

They exchange a look. Adora closes her eyes briefly, then reaches behind her to pry Catra’s hands loose from where they are clutching at her back. She kisses Catra’s nose and climbs off the bed, then promptly trips over her own feet and ends up in a graceless pile on the floor. Catra doesn’t even try to hold back the snicker bubbling up in her throat. She leans on one elbow and looks over the edge of the bed as Melog offers a curious meow and licks Adora’s face. Muttering under her breath, Adora jumps to her feet, pulls her jacket over her shoulders, and opens the door.

By the time she returns with the tray, Catra is laughing so hard her eyes are watering. “You are _such_ an idiot.”

Adora’s ears are pink. “I’m giving you a quota,” she says. “You can say that once a day. No more. So that’s it for today, ha!”

“Now you’re just being a dork.” Catra leans over the tray, fully intending to claim another kiss, but Adora wags one finger in her face.

“No distractions. We have a meeting.”

Catra hasn’t been in a position to pout for years now, but she remembers how. When they were cadets in the Fright Zone, she was habitually able to use her pouting powers to convince Adora to do, well, pretty much anything—steal extra rations, play pranks on the rank-and-file soldiers, insult Octavia. Who, let’s be honest, truly _did_ have a dumb face. Now, as Adora prepares to dig in to her meal, Catra sticks out her lower lip and flattens her ears.

Adora pauses, fork poised between the plate and her mouth. “Catra,” she says. “Stop that.”

“Hey, Adora.” When Adora puts down her mouthful of food, Catra knows her pout-magic is working.

“What. Do. You. Want.”

“One more kiss. Since we were interrupted.”

Adora cocks her head. “Speaking of which, did I succeed in making my point?”

Catra has the sudden sense that the tables have turned. She feels her own face heating up. “Ah… yes?”

Now Adora is leaning forward. “And you’ll trust me to tell you if and when you are hurting me, instead of jumping to conclusions?”

Catra looks away. “When I slash up your arm, it’s pretty obvious.”

“That’s different.” Adora touches her face, and Catra forces herself to meet those eyes. They are fully human now, cerulean and shimmering with emotion. “We’ll find a way to work on the bad dreams, okay? We will.”

Catra’s throat is tight, but she has a point to make. “Yours, too.”

“Stay with me,” Adora says softly, “and my nightmares won’t have any teeth.”

Her words knock the breath from Catra’s lungs. Before last night, she wouldn’t have believed them. Now, she knows they are true.

Adora stands and extends one hand. “I was going to let you find out on your own, but I can’t wait anymore.”

Catra blinks up at her, feeling as though she has missed some vital part of the conversation. “Uh, what?”

“Come here, silly.” Adora’s hand is still outstretched. Of course, Catra has to take it.

Adora leads her to the far wall, where a mirror hangs above a chest of drawers. She puts her hand on Catra’s shoulders and pushes her close. “Look.”

Catra sees her reflection—pricked ears, mismatched eyes, sharp chin. And just above her collarbone, the shadow of a bruise is forming, its edges red and slightly raised. When she touches it, the skin is tender. She flashes back to the feeling of Adora’s weight pinning her to the bed, the tickle of Adora’s hair against her face, the sparks of electricity arcing through her blood with every kiss.

Adora slides her arms around Catra’s waist, resting her chin on one shoulder. Their gazes meet in the mirror. “Did I hurt you?” Adora asks quietly.

“No. The, um, opposite. Actually.”

Adora’s answering smile is tinged with sadness. “What if this _is_ going to work? What if we really can figure all this out together?” She nuzzles her cheek against Catra’s neck. “What if we stop letting every little mistake or misunderstanding drive us apart?”

_What if we can’t?_

Catra forces down the thought—a remnant of her old, embittered self. The self she is slowly, painfully shedding. They saved the world. There’s nothing they _can’t_ do.

“That sounds good,” she says.

“So you’ll stay tonight? I won’t turn around this afternoon and find you and Melog… gone?”

The slight quaver in her voice makes Catra feel as though her heart has turned to glass. She swallows hard. “I’ll stay tonight.”

Apprehension drains from Adora’s face, leaving only the smile behind. “Okay then.” She squeezes Catra’s waist, then releases her. “Let’s eat. I’m _starving._ ”

Catra follows her back to where their breakfast is cooling. She feels… lighter inside, somehow. The icy lump of dread has mostly dissolved. As she perches on the bed, Melog rubs against her leg, purring. She scratches behind their ears while biting into a flaky roll. Adora starts describing her ideas for how to resettle the Horde throughout Etheria so Scorpia can take rightful possession of the Fright Zone. Sometimes, she stops to ask Catra what she thinks. Other times, Catra chimes in with a question or suggestion. Only once does Catra roll her eyes and tell Adora she’s being stupid. That’s progress, right?

The conversation continues as they get dressed, as Adora puts her hair up, as they enter the corridor and make their way toward Bright Moon’s war room. Maybe it doesn’t need to be called that anymore. Adora takes Catra’s hand as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is.

Only when they turn the corner to find the room filled with people does Catra remember how she left Glimmer’s room last night. No doubt, word has spread of her nightmare-fueled violence and subsequent meltdown. She braces herself for their judgmental stares and whispers.

“Morning!” Bow says brightly as they claim the two empty seats.

Perfuma smiles, and suddenly there is a flower behind Catra’s left ear. She’s guessing it matches the one that has appeared at Adora’s temple.

“Wildcat!” Scorpia exclaims. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Catra feels her tail lashing the air and holds it still with an effort. “Sorry for the, uh, commotion last night.” At Netossa and Spinnerella’s inquiring looks, she clarifies. “Nightmare.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frosta says. “Mermista had one too, early this morning. Glimmer’s room would have flooded if Winter’s Bane hadn’t acted quickly!”

Mermista groans. “Will you stop?”

At this news, Catra feels the tension drain from her body. She not alone. She’s not the only one struggling. And she is _profoundly_ grateful that she spent the rest of the night curled up with Adora instead of being nearly drowned by Sea-Ra.

From the head of the table, Glimmer clears her throat. Micah, seated beside her, has dark circles beneath his eyes, but he is smiling proudly. Catra shudders to think how _he_ lashes out in his nightmares.

“The Horde’s delegation is here,” Glimmer announces. “I’m going to let them in.” She levels a look at Frosta. “Remember: _no punching_.”

“Aww!”

Out of sight beneath the table, Adora rests one hand on Catra’s knee. The touch anchors her. _I could get used to this,_ she thinks, sharing a quick, private smile with Adora as the doors open. _I really could._


	5. Don't Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They share a series of slow, luxurious kisses that make Catra feel warm and safe and loved. In between, she whispers to Adora, spinning ludicrous stories of the millions upon millions of beings they have just saved from imminent destruction. Adora’s laughter heals something in her she didn’t even know was broken.
> 
> \---
> 
> In which time passes, Catra feels insecure, and Adora is accidentally mean--which leads to intriguing consequences.

In the aftermath of the meeting with the Horde, there is more work to be done than anyone could have guessed—reuniting families separated by Prime’s invasion, compensating villagers for property destroyed in the war, deciding how to ensure that all the Horde’s military-grade tech doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Occasionally, Catra worries that Entrapta’s hair might technically be the wrong hands. Then again, Entrapta seems to mostly understand the difference between “potentially good” and “probably destructive” these days. She’s come a long way.

Catra spends most of each day in the Fright Zone with her and Scorpia. And Perfuma, because a) she’s attached to Scorpia’s hip and b) the toxicity created by decades of Horde occupation is such that even She-Ra’s magical foliage requires a more expert touch. Catra’s primary role is to oversee the decommissioning of the Horde’s base of operations. She’s surprised to discover that she is almost as good at dismantling an army as she was at improving its efficiency, though she still despises the paperwork. When Bow arranges for one of his older brothers to serve as Horde Historian—a glorified title for “Catra’s assistant who takes care of the files”—she demonstrates her gratitude with a friendly shoulder slug and an apology for throwing him off a cliff that one time.

She empowers Entrapta to put together a team, comprised almost entirely of Etherian Makers’ Society members, to repurpose the Horde’s tanks and weapons as construction tools. Scorpia’s plans for remodeling her ancestral home are borderline insane—what _are_ “flying buttresses,” anyway?—but Catra tries to seem engaged while Scorpia chatters away about the angle and width of the arches. Now and then, she even remembers to crack an encouraging smile. Pretending to be supportive is the least she can do after all the angst she put Scorpia through.

The only space none of them can figure out what to do with is the sanctum, mostly because Entrapta and Hordak have holed themselves up in there and show no signs of realizing they are technically squatting on Princess Scorpia’s property. Hordak is helping the clones establish their own unique identities. From what Catra can tell, this involves insisting that each clone choose a name and some kind of unique feature—an ear piercing, a new haircut, a tattoo. Entrapta herself is almost positive that she is close to figuring out how to reprogram every Horde bot into a non-violent peace keeper or transport mule. So close. Maybe tomorrow.

Catra dislikes spending so many hours away from Adora (though just try and get her to admit it out loud), but at least there’s plenty to keep her occupied. It feels symbolically appropriate to demolish her own invasion force—a step forward in her own redemption arc. Besides, it’s not like Adora is sitting around Bright Moon twiddling her thumbs. She goes where She-Ra is needed—healing wounds, lifting heavy objects, and generally spreading hope. Because what screams “hope” more than an eight-foot-tall blonde warrior goddess in a tiara?

The days fall into a routine. Each morning after breakfast, Glimmer teleports Catra and her merry band to the Fright Zone. And each morning, right before she does, Adora asks Catra, in a carefully neutral tone, “See you tonight?”

“Why on Etheria are you asking that?” Glimmer exclaims after the third time it happens. “Of course you’ll see her tonight.”

“I take nothing for granted,” Adora says, at which point Sparkles calls her a sap.

Adora laughs, but Catra sees the strain in it. The question is all too legitimate. Catra hasn’t wanted to run since the night of the Heart, but that doesn’t mean she won’t want to tomorrow. Meanwhile, Adora is trying to make things easier by only ever asking for a finite promise.

In her heart of hearts, Catra hopes the day will never come when she _can’t_ reply, “Yeah, see you tonight.” Maybe life will carry on like this—busy, but meaningful in a way the Horde never was. Satisfying. Still, she can’t help but feel like she’s waiting for something. She doesn’t know whether that’s because she’s having a sixth sense about some impending doom, or because every brief period of stability in her life has been bookended by disasters.

The nightmares are annoyingly persistent. She hasn't shredded any blankets yet, but not a night goes by when she doesn't wake—gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat, or both—because of a dream. Sometimes, she recapitulates past battles with Adora. Sometimes, she is Prime's puppet. _Some creatures are destined only for destruction._ The words echo in her ears. She has believed them in the past. It's hard not to listen to them in the middle of the night, while she fights her way out of a nightmare's stranglehold—only to stifle her breaths against the palm of one hand, lest she wake Adora.

Everyone, Catra included, is looking forward to taking a break for the Magic Restoration Festival, which might be the stupidest name ever for a party to celebrate the universe not getting annihilated. Entrapta and Bow figure out how to hack Prime’s planet-wide communication system so the festivities can be broadcast all around Etheria. Glimmer asks She-Ra to give a speech, and Adora is hilariously nervous about it. Each night, she reads Catra her latest draft while pacing the length of their room. And each night, Catra makes fun of her until Adora flops onto the bed dramatically. Then, it’s time for Catra to indulge in her new favorite hobby—kissing Adora—until Adora goes breathless and decides to to give as good as she got.

Yeah. It’s not a bad life.

It’s also not perfect. Catra knows she isn’t giving Adora everything she wants. As much as she’d like to, she can’t make herself promise forever, nor has she woken up next to Adora since that first morning. Catra now has a mattress on the floor, and a pillow that isn’t Melog (though she doesn’t use it), and a big fluffy blanket instead of a thin one. Adora’s bed is far more comfortable—not to mention the fact that Adora is in it—but each time Catra considers staying with her all night, she hears the _drip, drip, drip_ of Adora’s blood and retreats to the floor.

Two days before the Festival, Glimmer is being an absolute tyrant. She has impressed Bow and Adora into last-minute decorating service. Catra would have been conscripted too, had she not grabbed hold of Melog and disappeared. She feels a little guilty, but she’s out of sorts tonight and it’s probably better for her to get lost than to snap at Sparkles. Once she is safely ensconced in Adora’s— _their_ —room, she sits on the sill of the bay window, tail lashing as she stares out over Bright Moon.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, Glimmer has also asked her to give a speech. Catra isn’t too worried about what she will say--something apologetic, blah blah--and crowds have never intimidated her the way they get to Adora. No, she’s worried about what the audience will hear, and whether they will believe her. She’s worried that everyone is secretly just tolerating her for Adora’s sake, and that as soon as Adora realizes it, her patience will evaporate. She’s worried about just how much she wants to be accepted by these ridiculous people who are already calling her “friend.” It’s hard to consider letting her guard down for them, when doing so in the past always led to heartbreak.

Well, okay. Not always. There _was_ that one time when her feelings saved the world.

Fatigue washes over her, and Catra abandons the window for the bed. It smells like Adora, and she barely resists the urge to rub her face in the pillow. Then, she does it anyway. The door opens, and Catra quickly flips onto her back, hands laced behind her neck in a nonchalant pose. Adora enters, mid-yawn, and collapses beside her.

“Hi,” she says.

In her peripheral vision, Catra sees Adora looking at her. She keeps staring up at the ceiling. “Hey.”

“How did everything go in the Fright Zone today?”

“Eh, same old.”

“I love you.”

Catra snorts and turns onto her side. “I was trying to play it cool and you ruined it.”

“I know.” Adora is smiling at her in that stupid, goofy way that makes Catra’s heart melt into syrup. Which, incidentally, is one food that never made it to the Fright Zone. Catra now habitually _soaks_ her morning pancakes in the stuff.

Adora touches Catra’s cheek. “What are you thinking?”

Catra doesn’t want to spoil the speech-surprise, and she definitely doesn’t want to tell Adora about her her fear that all the princesses and their sidekicks are only pretending to enjoy her company. She shrugs.

Adora shifts closer. “ You know, Scorpia and Mermista have been talking to Perfuma about how it felt to be chipped.” She strokes Catra’s hair as she speaks. “They say it helps—that she’s a good listener. Do you want to try?”

“Not Perfuma.” Catra _does_ want to try—she’d like to fall asleep with Adora and without fear. But _Perfuma_? “No guided meditations. Even a normal conversation with her makes me want to pick the heads off daisies.”

Adora snickers. “She used to be even worse. The first time I met her, she and her people were sitting around wishing for the Horde to leave them alone.”

Catra’s insecurities fade on a wave of amusement. She fixes Adora with a look of mock horror. “Adora. Did you just say a _mean thing_?”

Adora flushes a deep crimson and starts verbally tripping all over herself about how the words just flew out and she doesn’t really mean them and how much she values Perfuma’s friendship. By the time she starts lamenting what a terrible person she is and wondering aloud whether she should apologize to Perfuma immediately, Catra decides she’s watched her squirm long enough.

“Relax, princess. My lips are sealed. I’m a safe space.” She pokes Adora in the belly and is highly gratified by the resulting squawk of indignation. “Go on, tell me all your frustrations with all your friends. Starting with Sparkles.”

“I will _not.”_ Adora says. “I refuse to be mean.”

Catra pokes her again. “You just _were_ mean. You can do it again. Tell me.”

“No!”

When Catra pounces, tickling her ribs, Adora shrieks and squirms away. This precipitates a wrestling match that spans the length and width of the bed. Adora smacks Catra in the face with the pillow Catra was nuzzling minutes earlier (the irony!), but Catra, lunging, manages to pin one of Adora’s arms behind her back. With her free hand, Adora scrapes her fingernails along one of Catra’s feet—her only ticklish spot. When Catra yowls and releases her arm, Adora puts her in a headlock. Catra licks Adora’s wrist, which shocks her into easing her grip just enough for Catra to slither away. At the last instant, Catra evades her retaliatory grasp and tackles her to the bed, pinning Adora’s legs beneath her own, one hand holding down her shoulder and the other—

—The other on Adora’s breast.

Catra freezes. The shape of it fills her palm. Multiple layers separate Adora’s nipple from Catra’s calluses, but she can still feel its jutting hardness pressing against her fingers. She stares at Adora, wide-eyed. Adora stares back.

The Horde trained them to regard breasts as a weakness of female combatants—a sensitive spot capable of being exploited in battle. All Catra knows is that nothing she’s ever learned has prepared her for the intimacy of touching Adora in such a vulnerable place. Catra _feels_ Adora’s heartbeat lurch into a gallop. She hears it, too. She doesn’t think Adora is upset or afraid, but she can’t be certain.

“Should I—” But before she can pull away, Adora has covered Catra’s hand with her own.

Adora licks her lips. “I… like. How it feels.”

This revelation fills Catra with a rush of protectiveness that makes her dizzy. “Okay,” she whispers.

“You’ll stay?”

Catra doesn’t know whether Adora is talking about her hand or her heart. Either way, the answer is the same. “Yeah.”

Over their shared lifetime, Catra has touched Adora in many ways, for many reasons. She has never cradled Adora’s breast in the hollow of her hand, quietly, while looking into her eyes. She wants so desperately to be worthy of this moment and whatever comes after it.

Adora is looking up at her with liquid eyes that hold an unspoken plea. When Catra squeezes gently, Adora bites at her lower lip. Catra’s breaths are coming quickly, but she still feels as though she isn’t getting enough air. Her thoughts are slippery. She can’t look away. She shifts the placement of her fingers, slowly, carefully, watching each reaction. When she runs her thumb over the peak of Adora’s breast, Adora’s eyes slam shut and a gasp escapes. It hangs in the air between them.

“Don’t hide,” Catra says. The words emerge in a tone she’s never before heard out of her own mouth. She has pleaded with Adora many times—on Mara’s ship when Entrapta was about to take the chip out; in the tunnels beneath Mystacor as they marched toward the failsafe; in the Heart, at the bitter end—but never quite like this.

Adora blinks. Her eyes are unfocused, but she is clearly trying to do what Catra wants. Just as they begin to clear, Catra strokes her again. Adora arches beneath her, biting back a cry. At the small, vulnerable sound, awe ripples through Catra. Even when her pathetic longing for Adora had been at its peak, she never, ever could have anticipated a moment such as this. It is so precious.

“What does it feel like?” Her voice is hushed.

Now, Adora’s gaze does sharpen. She moistens her lips again. “Can I… show you?”

The question is wistful and hopeful. Catra’s head spins. “You really want to?” Under normal circumstances, she would do everything in her power to hide such insecurity. These are not normal circumstances.

“Yes.” Adora punctuates the syllable with an eager nod. This clear evidence of enthusiasm is so _Adora._ One of the things Catra loves most about her is her authenticity—her inability to be anyone but herself.

“Sure. Okay.”

Adora pulls her head down. The sensation of her tongue sliding shyly into Catra’s mouth steals away every cogent thought. By the time Adora breaks the kiss, Catra’s body is thrumming with electricity. Adora studies her, breathing hard.

“Let me?”

The words hit Catra like lightning. She braces her hands on both sides of Adora’s head, then brackets Adora’s hips with her knees. Hovering above her, Catra watches as Adora’s gaze tracks from her eyes, to her lips, then lower. Her hands rise. And then—oh, then. Adora skims the sides of her breasts, gentler than a butterfly’s wings.

Catra exhales shakily. Before she can suck in another breath, Adora’s hands return. She skims her palms across Catra’s nipples, then crooks her fingers. Catra watches as Adora holds her breasts, testing their weight. Cherishing them. They are smaller than her own, but when Adora looks up, her eyes are shining in a way that has nothing to do with She-Ra.

“You feel so good,” she whispers.

The idea that touching her feels good to Adora brings Catra perilously close to tears. She wants to say something in return, but she doesn’t know what, and also her mouth is too dry. Adora explores her slowly, drawing lines and circles that sink beneath the thin fabric of Catra’s shirt to permeate her skin. Whenever Adora’s fingers brush the sensitive tips, Catra’s hips surge. Her breaths are ragged, and all too soon, her arms start to tremble.

“Are you okay?” Adora whispers.

Catra sinks down, closing the space between their bodies, tucking her head beneath Adora’s chin. Adora’s arms come around her. Each time she inhales, Catra pulls Adora into her lungs. Slowly, her heart rate steadies. She could swear it’s trying to synchronize with Adora’s.

“Did I do something wrong?” Adora asks quietly.

Catra raises her head so quickly that her vision blurs. “What? _No._ Adora. Stop it.”

Adora’s expression is solemn. “You’ll tell me, right? If I ever, um, touch you in a way you don’t like?”

Catra nips at her chin. “I can’t imagine that ever happening, idiot. But yes. I’ll tell you.”

Adora’s dorky smile is tinged with relief. Her arms tighten.

“Don’t crush me, warrior princess,” Catra says into her sternum. But she burrows closer.

They stay that way for a long time. Adora’s hands stroke up and down her back, rhythmically. When Catra releases the purr welling up in her throat, Melog joins in, too.

“I love when you do that,” Adora murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“It means you’re happy. I want to make you happy.”

“You do.” Catra allows herself to remember Adora’s fingers on her nipples, the softness of Adora’s breast in her palm. She wants that again. Even more, she wants to touch Adora without any barriers between them. What does that mean?

“Adora?”

“Hmm?”

Catra kisses Adora’s chin, then shifts onto her side. Adora mirrors her so they are facing one another.

“What is… this? What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” Adora frowns as if she’s contemplating some kind of out-flanking maneuver. “Do you think—should we ask someone?”

“No!” Catra’s tail lashes violently at the thought of asking Glimmer why it feels so incredible to touch Adora and be touched in return. She looks into Adora’s naive, loving gaze and sighs. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want to share this with anyone. Whatever it is.”

Adora rubs their noses together, and the sweetness of it makes Catra’s heart all syrupy again. “Maybe it’s another kind of fraternizing? One Shadow Weaver never told us about?”

Catra flashes back to the Fright Zone—to the lecture their cadet class received one afternoon when they were all barely adolescents.

_“Fraternizing among cadets is strictly prohibited,” Shadow Weaver intoned, looming over them. “It is a distraction from the war that will not be tolerated.”_

_“What’s fraternizing?” Lonnie asked._

_Darkness boiled around Shadow Weaver at this presumption. “Kissing,” she hissed._

_“What’s kissing?” Kyle wasn’t trying to be insubordinate. He didn’t know. None of them did._

Thanks to his ignorance, they had all been on latrine duty for a month. Several weeks later, Rogelio happened upon two older cadets in the supply closet, their mouths mashed together. Unfortunately, Imp saw them, too. They were sent to the front lines. Neither returned.

With an effort, Catra shakes off the chill of the memory. “She sure was wrong about kissing. Turns out, it’s a formidable weapon.”

Adora snort-laughs, and Catra falls in love with her just a little bit more. Abruptly, her expression becomes somber. “Did you… ah.” She closes her eyes, then opens them, determination written all over her face. “Did you ever kiss anyone else?”

Once, Catra would have jumped at the opportunity to poke fun at the insecurity she is revealing. Now, it is unthinkable. “Never.” She leans forward so their mouths are mere inches apart. “You?”

“No. You’re the only—” Before she can finish the sentence, Catra has joined their lips.

When they pull apart, Adora is flushed again. “I’d say our first kiss worked out well.”

“Mm.” Catra can’t stop staring at her mouth. “Maybe we save a planet every time. Ever thought of that?”

Adora’s laughter is clean and pure, the sound of victory bells. She snuggles closer. “No time to waste, then.”

They share a series of slow, luxurious kisses that make Catra feel warm and safe and loved. In between, she whispers to Adora, spinning ludicrous stories of the millions upon millions of beings they have just saved from imminent destruction. Adora’s laughter heals something in her she didn’t even know was broken.

Eventually, Catra coaxes Adora onto her side. This time, she does the holding, wrapping one arm around Adora’s waist, then sliding her hand up until it cradles Adora’s breast. She can touch her this way, now. Once Adora’s breaths are deep and even, Catra begins the process of disentangling herself. Reluctance helps her go slowly. Still, Adora wakes as she is inching away.

“Catra?”

“I’m not leaving.” Catra kisses the shell of her ear, wishing she dared give Adora what she wants. “I’m just going to keep Melog company.”

Adora nods jerkily. Once Catra is settled, she reaches up. Adora’s fingers brush hers, then intertwine.

“What about talking to Spinnerella?” Adora says sleepily. "Instead of Perfuma."

Catra doesn’t have a ready answer. She barely knows Spinny at all. She remembers fighting her in Erlandia and the Fright Zone, and Netossa’s obsession with unchipping her. She has a vague recollection of Spinnerella’s encouraging smile as they traipsed out of their hideout in search of the failsafe. More vivid is to Catra is the memory of Netossa spraying her with water and imprisoning her in a net. Gah!

Still, Spinny was chipped longer than any other princess. She wreaked quite a lot of havoc. She hurt the person she loves most in the world. Repeatedly.

“She’s really kind,” Adora is saying. “And she’s older than us. Maybe she’ll have more… perspective?”

Catra hears the hope in Adora’s voice. She wants so badly to hold her all through the night without worrying they’ll wake in a pool of blood. She squeezes Adora’s fingers gently.

“I’ll talk to her.”

Adora squeezes back. “I love you.”

Catra waits until Adora’s fingers loosen as she drifts into sleep. Only then does she reclaim her hand.


	6. Talk Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone on the balcony, Catra thinks about what she deserves. Bright Moon probably has some kind of tribunal like the Horde did, though it’s probably a lot more fair. Still, she deserves to be tried there for war crimes. Her actions as part of the Rebellion will be mitigating factors, but there’s no way they make up for all the years spent throwing soldiers and bots at Etherian civilians. Not to mention opening the portal that killed Queen Angella. Why is she not behind bars right now?
> 
> \---
> 
> In which Catra does some preliminary processing with Spinnerella, and a game of keep-away becomes "chase the cat."
> 
> Rated "T." I have lost control of them. They are doing what they want. I don't even know; I'm just having so much fun. ;)

In Bright Moon, it is apparently a thing to sip hot beverages while having a meaningful conversation with someone. Catra sits on the small balcony off Netossa and Spinnerella’s suite of rooms and accepts a mug of warm milk, Melog curled at her feet. Spinny sits across from her, drinking tea that smells like flowers. A year ago, Catra could never have imagined she’d be here, in Princess Central, about to talk through her feelings with a woman who only wears flowy pink and purple garments entirely unsuited to combat.

Then again, Spinny more than proved her worth as a formidable opponent. That’s a large part of the reason why Catra is here.

“So, ah,” she says, then has to clear her throat. “Thanks. For, uh, making the time.”

Spinny gives her an encouraging smile. “I’m glad you reached out. We don’t know each other very well, and I’d like that to change.”

“Really?” The words slips out before Catra can stop it.

“Why does that surprise you?”

Catra had thought there would be more small talk before they jumped into the cesspool of her emotions, but apparently not. “I was evil until pretty recently.”

“I can empathize,” Spinny says, regarding her over the top of her mug.

Catra laughs, too loudly. Afterward, there is an awkward pause that she feels desperate to fill. Is this when Spinnerella starts asking invasive questions? Catra’s pretty sure that’s how this is supposed to work, but Spinny seems content to sit and sip tea. Melog shifts, pressing more tightly to Catra’s legs. Their closeness gives her the strength to break the silence.

“How was it, for you? Being chipped, I mean.”

Spinnerella sets her cup on the small table nearby. She looks out over the spires of the city. “Like being a prisoner in my own mind.”

“Yeah.” It’s a good analogy. Catra pictures herself in a cage, beating her fists bloody against the bars. That’s about how it felt. In her peripheral vision, she sees Melog’s aura shift into crimson.

“Fighting Netossa was the worst,” Spinny says. “I hate that Prime made me call her ‘beloved.’ I hate that he threw our relationship in her face.”

There is a coldness to her voice that makes Catra’s ears twitch. She’s willing to bet that Spinnerella didn’t use the word “hate” very much before Prime got to her. Weirdly, the fact that she’s so angry makes Catra feel less uncomfortable with this whole “making yourself emotionally available” nonsense.

“I get that.” She remembers raking her claws down Adora’s back, silently screaming. The memory makes her feel cold. She sips at the milk, but it doesn’t warm her. “The worst for me was when he made me hurt Adora.”

Spinny’s gaze refocuses on Catra. “You and Adora have known each other for a long time?”

“Forever.” Catra feels herself smile. “We were both orphans raised by the Horde. I honestly don’t remember life without her.” The smile fades. “Until she left, I mean.”

“Mm. I remember when she showed up at Bright Moon. Were you surprised when she defected?”

Catra scoffs. “I thought she had brain damage. Seriously. She had just gotten promoted, and we were so close to getting everything we’d ever wanted.” She can still remember those feelings as though they were yesterday—confusion and a bottomless grief, followed by rage that ate her alive. “I didn’t understand how she could leave me—leave everything—for a shiny sword and two sparkly new friends.”

Spinnerella says nothing. Catra looks at her toes. Melog butts their forehead against her shins, but she doesn’t smile. She doesn’t want to admit the rest of what she’s thinking. The words press against her lips like a thunderhead cleaving the sky. “Adora’s always been naive,” she finally says, the words coming out clipped. “She didn’t realize the Horde was evil. I knew the truth. I could have walked away with her. She asked me to.”

“Why didn’t you?” Mercifully, Spinny’s tone is devoid of judgement.

This is a question Catra has been asking herself ever since Adora’s offhand remark during the very first meal they shared together while Darla was carrying them home. _I’ve been waiting for years for you to join the Rebellion…_

“Adora was… everyone’s favorite,” she says slowly. “Especially Shadow Weaver’s.”

“What made Shadow Weaver so important?”

“She was Hordak’s second-in-command. She basically raised us.” Catra’s tail bristles as all the old emotions come welling up: fear, shame, anger, bitterness. The most recent of these layers is gratitude, but it’s not enough to offset the others. “Shadow Weaver thought Adora was special. And yeah, obviously, she was right. But Adora could do no wrong, and I… I was always the one dragging her down.”

“It sounds like Shadow Weaver made you feel worthless,” Spinny says quietly.

Catra forces herself to look up. Spinny is leaning forward in her chair, entirely focused on Catra. Her eyes are bright with emotion, but also kind. In the spotlight of this gaze, Catra experiences a foreign feeling of actually being _heard._ Older people—Shadow Weaver, Hordak, Prime—have always either dismissed her or used her for their own ends. Right now, Spinnerella is acting like Catra’s the only person in the world.

“Worthless. Yeah.” Catra pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them. “I once told Adora that her leaving the Horde was the best thing that ever happened to me. Without her in the way, I could prove myself. Hordak promoted me, even over Shadow Weaver. We started winning.”

“It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming,” Spinny says with a small smile.

Catra hugs her legs tighter. “But I still wasn’t good enough. Hordak valued Entrapta more than me. Shadow Weaver manipulated me into allowing her to escape. Hordak imprisoned me and publicly humiliated me.” She swallows hard. “I got… angry. So angry. I wanted to burn everything and everyone to the ground.”

She sits waiting for Spinny to realize that Catra’s not worth her time, that compassion isn’t something she deserves. Instead, Spinny is nodding thoughtfully.

“During that time, was there anyone who helped you feel good about yourself? Anyone who genuinely cared about you?”

“Scorpia. She was a good friend. She really cared.”

“But?”

“But I lashed out. I was… abusive. I pushed her away, and eventually, she left.”

“Ah.” Spinnerella sits back in her chair. “And that reminded you of Adora.”

Catra has never connected those two dots. “Maybe, yeah. Scorpia’s reasons were different, though. She left because I was a ‘bad friend.’ Her words. I deserved worse.”

“And now? What do you deserve now?” Spinny gets to her feet. “Think about that while I refill our drinks.”

For once, Catra follows orders and thinks about what she deserves. Bright Moon probably has some kind of tribunal like the Horde did, though it’s probably a lot more fair. Still, she deserves to be tried there for war crimes. Her actions as part of the Rebellion will be mitigating factors, but there’s no way they make up for all the years spent throwing soldiers and bots at Etherian civilians. Not to mention opening the portal that killed Queen Angella. Why is she not behind bars right now?

Melog rises and paces back and forth, glowing an angry red. By the time Spinny returns, Catra has curled herself in a tight ball, and her tail is lashing. Spinny sets her fresh cup of milk down on the table. “Oh dear,” she says. “I see you’ve convinced yourself that you deserve something horrible.”

“Of course I do!” Catra hears the shrillness in her voice, but she’s powerless to quell the panic rising inside her. “Prime was right, in my nightmare. I’m like him. I lie to people. I manipulate them. I’m violent and controlling. I deserve to be locked up or banished or—”

“Prime is gone,” Spinny says quietly but firmly. “Whatever he said in your nightmare was only you, saying it to yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” Catra wants to smash the mug on the ground and watch the milk trickle over the side of the parapet. She forces herself to drink from it instead. “Whoever it was, the end result was that I lashed out in my sleep and injured Adora in the process.”

Now she’s sure Spinnerella will denounce her, because if there’s one thing all these princesses have in common, it’s protectiveness of Adora. Instead, Spinny pats her shoulder in an awkward but clearly heartfelt attempt at reassurance.

“That must have been scary.”

_Drip, drip, drip._

“Yeah,” Catra chokes out.

“Was she angry with you?”

“No.” Catra remembers Adora’s expression when she found her in the hall. Relief. “Adora doesn’t get angry when I hurt her. She gets angry when I hurt others.”

“That’s an interesting insight,” Spinny muses. “You seem almost frustrated that she wasn’t upset.”

Catra grabs the arm rests of the chair in an effort to keep herself from bolting. Melog jumps into her lap to help her stay put. Her heart is hammering against her ribs. “Of course I am! I don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

“Tell me,” Spinny says, her tone conversational, as though Catra isn’t in the middle of a meltdown. “What good do you think it would do to imprison or exile you?”

Catra blinks at her. What kind of question is this?

“Let me put it another way. Whose lives would be better if you were imprisoned or exiled?”

“Everyone I’ve hurt!” Catra’s ears are flat against her head and her breaths are coming faster than they should be.

“Really.” For the first time, Spinny looks at her with disappointment in her eyes. “You hurt Glimmer and Bow, but they’re obviously quite fond of you now. You hurt the other princesses, but they’ve accepted you, fought alongside you. You hurt many civilians—but from what I’ve heard about what happened at the Heart, without you, we wouldn’t be here right now.” She leans forward again. “And you hurt Adora, but a blind person could see how much she loves you.”

Catra’s ears prick. Her tail stops lashing. Melog’s angry red aura begins to collapse around its edges.

“Love isn’t about deserving,” Spinny continues. “All your life, people have exploited and manipulated you, so maybe it’s hard for you to understand that. But it’s the truth. When you love someone, you know all of them—their light and dark sides, their strengths and their flaws. You can’t love someone in pieces. Not really. It’s all or nothing.”

Catra considers this. Adora is too trusting and too ready to throw herself into danger for other people. But would she really be Adora without those weaknesses? Of course not. As much as those qualities frustrate the hell out of Catra, they are an inextricable part of the woman she loves. That love gave her the strength to walk into certain death. That love allowed them to make it out alive.

“Loving yourself works the same way,” Spinny says. “Right now, it seems to me that all your guilt and self-loathing are controlling you. But you can’t fight those feelings. They just get stronger if you try. You have to accept them, forgive yourself, and move forward.” She grimaces. “Easier said than done, of course.”

Catra seizes the opportunity to turn the conversation away from herself. “Is that hard for you, too?”

“Mm.” Now Spinny looks away. “I keep thinking that I could have fought the chip more successfully. I worry that… that Prime exploited some part of me that wants to hurt others. That wants to hurt _Netossa._ And that’s why he could use me so easily.”

“What? No!” The words explode from Catra. She feels frantic again, but for a different reason. “That’s _not_ true. Do you think Micah wanted to hurt Glimmer? Would Scorpia _ever_ shoot lightning at Perfuma? Prime made you be violent. He forced you.”

When Spinny turns back to her, tears stain her cheeks. “That’s what Netossa says.”

Catra feels nervous—comforting people has never been her forte—but Spinny has been so kind to her, and she should at least try. “As much as it pains me to say this, Netossa’s pretty smart.” When Spinny offers a watery smile, Catra thinks maybe she’s not doing a terrible job. “I’m not just saying that—she figured out my weakness and made me look like an idiot in front of everyone. So I guess my point is: I’d believe her if I were you.”

Melog vacates Catra’s lap, then puts their front paws on Spinny’s knees and proceeds to lick her face. Spinnerella laughs and sniffles until she regains control of her emotions. “Thank you, Melog. And thank you, Catra. I’ll try.” Then, she blinks and fixes Catra with a look. “As long as you promise to try, too.”

“Ah—what am I supposed to be trying at, again?”

“To forgive yourself,” Spinny says, rolling her eyes. Thankfully, she’s not crying anymore.

Catra feels a tightness in her throat. What if it’s too late to do what Spinnerella is asking? What if she can’t make herself let go of the anger and guilt?

“Right. Yeah. I will.”

“Good.” Spinny brushes the tears from her cheeks. “Whenever you’re feeling bad, do two things. First, focus on the sensation of breathing. Count your breaths, if you want. Keep them nice and slow. Then, when you’ve calmed down a bit, think about a time when you did something you’re proud of. It could be something really important, or something very small.”

This suggestion seems suspiciously close to something Perfuma would advocate, but Catra nods.

“And if you want to talk again, we can do this every week.” Spinny covers Catra’s hand with her own. “I’d like it if we did. You’ve helped me.”

Catra knows her shock is showing. “I… what?”

“You did.” Spinny squeezes gently. “Netossa is being patient with me, but she wasn’t chipped. She can’t empathize. It’s easier to talk to you about this.”

Belatedly, Catra realizes the same is true of her and Adora. Adora will always be sympathetic and compassionate, but she’ll never fully understand. Being able to talk to people who do is more important than she had realized.

“I know what you mean.”

“Is Adora hovering over you like a hen on eggs?” When Catra only stares at her blankly, Spinny grimaces. “No chickens in the Horde, hmm? What I meant was: is she being overprotective?”

“No, actually.” It’s a little surprising, now that she thinks about it. “She’s been giving me space.”

“Smart girl,” Spinny says. “Though I’m sure it’s driving her crazy.”

Is it? Catra doesn’t know. She’s aware that—with a few notable exceptions—Adora has been incredibly patient since rescuing her from Prime’s ship. Until now, Catra didn’t realize that patience might come at the cost of suppressing some of her own instincts. She should have. Adora is most comfortable when she has done enough contingency planning to ensure a desired outcome. Giving Catra space means improvising, and to Adora, improvisation feels too close to giving up. But she’s doing it anyway.

“I guess,” she says slowly, “I should talk to her about that?”

Spinny offers an encouraging nod. “Good idea.”

The silence that emerges between them now is companionable instead of uncomfortable. Melog curls up on the floor between them, purring. Catra watches a few puffy clouds scud past the largest of Etheria’s moons. There is a question bubbling up inside her that she wants to ask, but she doesn’t know how to work her way up to it.

“You and Netossa,” she says hesitantly. “You’re… happy together.”

Spinnerella’s smile is brilliant. “‘Tossa is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Catra nods, then swallows. “I want to have what you have. With Adora.”

Spinny’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Oh, sweetie. You can. You will.”

No one has ever in her life called Catra _sweetie,_ but weirdly, she doesn’t mind. Coming from Spinnerella, it’s actually sort of nice. She can’t even muster up a modicum of self-disgust at this thought. What kind of softie are these princesses turning her into?

“You both have your whole lives in front of you,” Spinny is saying. After all their recent near death experiences, Catra hopes this is true. She takes a deep breath.

“It’s just that I don’t know how to be someone’s girlfriend.” Now that the hardest words are out, more follow in a torrent. “The Horde was strict about fraternizing. That’s what they called relationships or whatever. And I know Adora’s been out of the Horde for a few years, but she’s incredibly clueless about most things in case you haven't noticed already, and—” Catra looks down at her hands and realizes they have clenched into fists. “I don’t want to mess this up,” she finishes in a whisper. She risks a look at Spinny’s face: attentive and benevolent. Not a trace of laughter.

“I’m sure it’s disconcerting not to have much context for what’s happening,” Spinny’s voice is calm and even. Reassuring. “But you’re not _someone’s_ girlfriend. You’re Adora’s. Each of you is unique and complex. There’s no ‘right’ way to have a romantic relationship. There’s only the way you and Adora discover together.”

This is not the answer Catra was expecting. “Really? It’s that simple?”

Now Spinny does laugh, though not unkindly. “Yes and no. Relationships themselves are never simple, because people are complicated. Even when you do your best to communicate honestly, you’ll have misunderstandings, hurt feelings, arguments. There’s no getting around those.”

“I think we’ve already had our share,” Catra mutters.

“Hopefully, the ones you’ll have as a couple will be much more banal.”

The dryness in Spinny’s tone catches Catra off guard. She smirks. “I didn’t realize you do sarcasm.”

“I’ve learned a thing or two from ‘Tossa over the years.”

Catra swallows what’s left of her milk and carefully returns the cup to the table. She meets Spinnerella’s gaze. “I should get back. Glimmer’s gone insane over this Festival thing.”

Spinny laughs and stands and walks her to the door, Melog at their heels. “Same time next week?”

“Sure.”

“If something comes up before then and you want to talk it over, you know where to find me.”

“Right.” Catra nods. “Thanks. For everything.”

She blows out a breath as the door shuts behind them.

“That wasn’t bad,” she says to Melog. They lean against her legs and she scratches between their ears. “In fact, it was kind of good.”

In a series of meows and chirping sounds, Melog announces that they are going to spend some time in the Whispering Woods with their new friends. Catra smiles. Adora was right—they fit right in on this planet.

“I’m going to hang out with friends, too.”

As she walks through the palace corridors, Catra gradually realizes that yes, she feels a little better than she did before talking to Spinnerella. Sure, she isn’t wild about having panicked. But Spinny got upset too, so it’s not like she’s alone. In fact, she’s probably never been _less_ alone in her life than she is right now. That’s a little frightening to consider—a lot of people expect things from her now—but they also seem to genuinely like her. Which is new.

“Definitely getting soft,” she mutters, shouldering open a side door that leads into the gardens.

Given Glimmer’s stress level earlier in the day, Catra half expects the Best Friends Squad and their princess hangers-on to be at each other’s throats. Instead, she finds them all lounging around the central fountain. Bow is lazily picking out a tune on some kind of stringed musical instrument, Sea Hawk humming beside him. Mermista, Glimmer, and Frosta are putting on an impromptu light show using the fountain’s water as prisms. Entrapta and Hordak are bent over a tracker pad, and wrong-Hordak is braiding Swift Wind’s mane while crooning along to Bow’s music. Scorpia sits with her back to a tree, snuggling with Perfuma. And Adora—Adora is perched on a nearby bench re-reading her speech notes because she is utterly incapable of relaxation.

Catra grins. Challenge accepted. She saunters into their midst.

“Hi, Catra!” Bow greets her brightly. Scorpia waves a pincer.

“I thought I’d find you all redecorating for the thousandth time,” Catra says. Glimmer shoots her a look of annoyance while simultaneously levitating tiny balls of pink light. It’s actually sort of impressive.

“No sense in making the ice sculptures until tomorrow!” Frosta chirps.

“And the flowers will look better if they’re fresh,” Perfuma adds.

“So tonight, we are having mellow chill time,” Sea Hawk announces. “The very opposite of an adventure!”

“I’m happy to take a break.” Catra slides onto the bench next to Adora, who hasn’t raised her head and continues to mumble under her breath as she squints at her draft. Leaning in close, Catra purrs, “Hey, Adora.”

Adora’s head shoots up so quickly Catra fears she might have whiplash. A flush blooms across her cheeks. “Catra!” her voice is higher pitched than normal. “Where did you come from?”

“Wow,” Mermista drawls. “It is, like, stupidly easy to sneak up on you, Adora.”

Catra plucks the notebook from Adora’s hand. “That’s it. You’re cut off.”

“But—”

“No. You heard Sea Hawk. Or, well, you probably didn’t, but this is ‘mellow chill time.’ Not ‘freak out over public speaking’ time.”

Adora’s eyes narrow. “The _whole planet_ is going to be watching tomorrow. I have to be perfect!”

“Aww, Adora,” Bow says. “You are per—”

“Zip it, Arrow Boy!” Catra points a claw in his direction without shifting her gaze from Adora. “Newsflash, Princess: you’re not perfect. None of us are.”

“Especially not you,” Mermista says.

“Ha, ha. Look, you’ve been practicing all week. You’re going to be great. So relax.”

Catra shifts so she can lie down on the bench, head pillowed on Adora’s thigh. When she feels Adora’s fingers in her hair, she smiles. Bow begins playing again. Beneath the music, she hears scraps of conversation—Entrapta’s excitement at some suggestion of Hordak’s, Swift Wind’s inane chatter about how majestic his braids will be, Frosta begging Mermista to create a higher plume of water.

“How did it go with Spinnerella?” Adora asks quietly.

Catra turns so one ear is pressed against Adora’s stomach. “Weirdly good.” When she is rewarded by Adora’s hopeful, goofy smile, she rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you more about it later.”

“Okay.”

Catra knows the attack is coming. In the interim, she enjoys Adora’s fingertips against her scalp. But when the muscles of Adora’s leg tense beneath her neck, Catra subtly shifts her grip on the notebook. In the next instant, Adora makes a grab for it. Catra rolls off the bench, lands on her feet, and leaps away. When she turns, tail lashing, Adora is standing with her hands on her hips.

“You are so slow!” Catra taunts.

“Am I?” When Adora sprints in her direction, Catra cuts to one side.

“Sea Hawk!” Catra tosses the book in his direction. Thankfully, he catches it.

“Is this a thrilling keep-away adventure?” he asks hopefully.

“Don’t you dare set my notes on fire.” Adora squares off with him, ponytail fluttering in the light breeze.

“Me, me, me!” Frosta is yelling. “I’m open!”

The game lasts longer than Catra anticipated. Frosta tosses the book to her best friend Glimmer, who pretends to be on Adora’s side before poofing away to hand it off to a clueless wrong-Hordak. A pause ensues, during which the rules of keep-away are explained. Adora huffs and taps her foot throughout this interlude, but Catra can tell she’s actually having fun. Wrong-Hordak proceeds to throw the book to Perfuma, but his aim is completely off. It would have sailed into a tree had she not conjured a vine to retrieve it. There is quite a lot of jumping and skidding and shouting as the book criss-crosses the air. Scorpia nearly fumbles it, then manages to latch on with both pincers before pitching it to Bow.

There is a blinding flash, and suddenly She-Ra is before them, twirling a lasso made of light. As Bow releases the notebook in Entrapta’s direction, the loop closes around it, dragging it back into She-Ra’s hands.

“Game over,” she says smugly.

“Adoraaaa,” Frosta whines.

“That was highly enjoyable!” Wrong-Hordak exclaims. “Why did we stop?”

“Because it’s time for a new game.” She-Ra grins maniacally at Catra. “Catch the cat.”

Catra’s ears twitch violently. “Now wait just—”

“You get a five-second head start,” She-Ra declares, still wearing that insufferable smirk. “Five, four—”

Catra is off and running, heart pounding as she zigs and zags between the trees. This has all escalated very quickly! She leaps over a hedgerow and pounds down the path. An arrow whistles past her left ear, exploding into a net against the shrubbery.

She dives through the first gap in the foliage, tucking into a somersault to roll beneath a bench. In a heartbeat, she is back on her feet and bolting into a clearing, where a placid pond awaits. Too late, she realizes the danger as the water gathers into an arcing wave. Skidding to a halt, Catra turns—only to find a lattice of branches and vines looming before her, blocking her path.

And then, a warm strong arm encircles her waist, and she is being lifted up into the sky as though she weighs nothing.

“Hey, Catra,” She-Ra murmurs into her ear.

“You _are_ mean.”

She-Ra’s laugh is the same as Adora’s, except more confident. “I’m not. Do you really think I would’ve let anyone else catch you?”

She-Ra can’t fly, and her descent is more precipitous than Catra feels comfortable with. But she somehow absorbs the impact without it rattling Catra’s bones, and moments later, Catra’s feet are back on solid ground. Everyone converges on them.

“I almost had her,” Mermista grouches. “Thanks a lot.”

“ _I_ almost had her!” Bow protests.

With a flicker, Adora is herself again. “Yeah, well, you all lose. She’s mine.”

 _She’s mine._ Catra’s glad that Adora’s arm is around her waist. She feels a little wobbly.

“I’m hungry,” Frosta declares.

“Is someone having a growth spurt?” Glimmer’s tone is saccharine.

“Shut up!”

“Is it time for another feast?” Wrong-Hordak asks. “I am eager to learn about more varieties of solid food.”

“He is so weird,” Swift Wind says. “Though he’s awfully skilled at braiding.”

“Nothing good ever happened on an empty stomach,” Scorpia declares. She holds out her arm to Perfuma. “Let’s go eat.”

“You okay?” Adora asks as they fall in line with the others. “Did I go too far there, inciting them to chase you?”

“Nah. It made me all nostalgic for the old days.” Catra elbows Adora, but she does it gently. “Not really. Don’t worry. But I’m glad you were the one to catch me.”

“Always.” Adora smiles at as she says it.

And that’s what it all boils down to, Catra realizes. She wants Adora always to be the one to catch her. Doesn’t that mean it’s time to stop running?


	7. Advanced Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netossa looks as though she’s preparing battle plans. “There are two main categories,” she says slowly. “Let’s call them touching and advanced kissing.”
> 
> Advanced kissing? Adora likes the sound of that very much. She flips to a new page and creates two columns.
> 
> \---
> 
> In which Adora waylays Netossa and asks her what happens after kissing. Set in parallel with Chapter 6: Talk Therapy.
> 
> Thanks to my wife and @Aceblida for suggesting that Adora go to Netossa for advice. This chapter is rated "M."

At the knock on her door, Adora stops pacing and goes to open it. “Netossa!” she exclaims as though this meeting is a surprise, which it isn’t. “Hi. Um, come in.”

Netossa has never been in her room, and Adora watches her take it in: the massive pinboard with a map of Etheria, dotted with now irrelevant Horde positions; the flat, nearly pillowless bed that doesn’t try to swallow people; the extra mattress on the floor next to it.

“Here, sit. Sit.” Adora pushes the room’s only chair in Netossa’s general direction.

Netossa lifts an eyebrow. “Where are you going to sit?”

“Oh, I’m… not. Sitting is not my forté.”

Netossa chuckles. “I’m making a mental note to add that to your list of weaknesses.”

Adora laughs, but then she remembers why she invited Netossa here and starts to panic, and her laughter goes on longer than it should. Finally, she clears her throat. Netossa is frowning at her.

“So! Spinny and Catra are talking. Isn’t that good?”

Netossa shrugs. “I’m still getting used to putting ‘good’ and ‘Catra’ in the same sentence.”

Adora laughs again, too loudly. “Right! Right. But she honestly does seem good now.”

Silence descends between them. Adora stares at her toes while she paces. Out of the corners of her eyes, she sees Netossa cross her arms over her chest. She’s getting impatient. Of course she is—Adora invited her here without any explanation and is now acting like a complete idiot. The only problem is, she can’t figure out how to stop.

“Adora, what’s going on?” Netossa finally asks.

Adora panics. “What? Nothing!”

“You invited me here for nothing?”

“I wanted to, you know, catch up.” Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. Pretending she just wants to spend some time with Netossa definitely seems like the best way to extricate herself.

Netossa fixes her with a look. “No, you don’t. Out with it.”

Or not. Adora takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly. She looks at Netossa, then away.

“I’m leaving in five seconds if you don’t start talking.”

“Okay! Okay.” Adora clears her throat and squeezes her eyes shut. “Um. Catra and I have been kissing a lot and it’s really nice but we don’t really know what’s going on and I keep having this thought that I want her to touch me everywhere and also vice-versa but I don’t know why or how it’s supposed to work and she doesn’t want me to ask other people about it but I don’t want to mess this up. So. That’s it.”

She opens one eye to regard Netossa, who stares at her for a long moment before starting to laugh. “You are _adorable._ ”

Adora grimaces. “You do know everyone makes that pun, right?”

“I don’t care!” Netossa says breathlessly. “It’s the truth.”

“Okay, maybe you could stop laughing now?”

Netossa dabs at the tears that have formed in the corners of her eyes. “Sorry. I really am sorry. I’m not the one known for her patience and compassion. That would be Spinny.”

“I don’t need compassion!” Adora says vehemently. “I need advice.”

“I’ll say you do.” Netossa cocks her head. “The Horde seriously taught you nothing about physical intimacy?”

“Physical intimacy.” Adora rolls the words around her mouth. “No. Shadow Weaver told us fraternizing was kissing and against the rules.”

“I wish that woman were still alive so I could throttle her,” Netossa mutters. She sits cross-legged in the chair. “All right. We’ll start from the beginning.”

The relief Adora experiences makes her feel a little dizzy. Then, she has a thought. “I should take notes, right? I’ll take notes.”

“By all means.” The way Netossa is biting her lip makes it clear she’s trying to hold back more laughter.

Adora tries to ignore a pang of embarrassment. She grabs the notebook in which she has been planning her big speech for tomorrow, flips to a new page, uncaps her pen, and perches on the bed. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Netossa opens her mouth, then closes it. She frowns, then sighs. “When two people love each other in a romantic way,” she begins, “there are a lot of ways to express that love. Some ways are very obvious, like saying ‘I love you,’ or being extra generous with each other, or fighting your chipped wife even when it’s killing you to attack her because you _need_ her to come back to you and—” Netossa stops and clears her throat.

“I had to fight Catra while she was chipped, too,” Adora says, shuddering. “It was… awful.” Then, she frowns. “But doesn’t everything you’re saying also apply to friendship? Not just to the romantic kind of love?”

Netossa nods. “What I’m talking about right now is emotional intimacy, and that’s what friendship is built on, too. The difference is a matter of intensity and degree. Think about… about how you feel about Bow. Then think about how you feel about Catra.”

Adora obeys. When she thinks about Bow, a comforting warmth spreads through her chest. He is kind and good and nurturing. She wants him to be happy and fulfilled, and she never, ever wants to hurt him. Then, she thinks of Catra. Memories flood her mind: the comforting warmth of Catra against her feet in the Horde barracks; the confusion and anger and grief she’d felt when Catra refused to join the Rebellion; the despair that had swallowed her whole as Catra threw the portal switch; the resignation that had lodged like a stone in her stomach as Catra continued to attack the Princess Alliance and Etherian civilians. She remembers Catra’s voice on the incoming transmission to Darla, resolute one moment and pleading the next, as she sacrificed herself to save Glimmer.

_Don’t come here! No matter what!_

She remembers Prime’s ship, and the hope in Catra’s pain-filled eyes when Adora promised they’d go home. She remembers her horror as Catra fell from the platform, and the desperation that urged her to jump leap into the void in pursuit. She remembers her abject terror at the sight of Catra’s broken body, and her profound relief that Catra was still breathing. She remembers the golden heat of She-Ra flooding through her—there on the ship, and again in the Heart. The way she loves Catra—has always loved Catra, despite everything—is the best part of herself.

“I think I see your point,” Adora whispers.

“That heightened emotional intimacy is one of the differences between loving someone as a friend and being _in_ love with someone romantically.”

Duly noted. Adora jots it down. “And there are other differences?”

“Oh yeah.” Netossa’s brow wrinkles for a moment, then smoothes. “Have you ever wanted to kiss Bow the way you kiss Catra?”

“No!” Adora feels mildly horrified at the thought. That’s just… no.

“Right. Because you’re not _attracted_ to Bow. Attraction is the foundation of physical intimacy. And just as emotional intimacy is expressed by being kind and nurturing, physical intimacy has its expressions, too.”

“Like kissing,” Adora says, blowing a stray lock of hair back from her face as she writes in the notebook.

“Kissing is a very good way,” Netossa says. “But it’s also just the beginning.”

Adora looks up in excitement. _This_ is what she wants to know. “What are the other ways?”

Netossa looks as though she’s preparing battle plans. “There are two main categories,” she says slowly. “Let’s call them touching and advanced kissing.”

 _Advanced_ kissing? Adora likes the sound of that very much. She flips to a new page and creates two columns.

“No two people are exactly alike, “ Netossa says. “So I’m going to generalize. And come to think of it, you’re a First One, and I’ve never seen another humanoid on Etheria like Catra, so even the specifics I have aren’t going to help you.”

“Um?” Adora wants to write something down, but she has no idea what Netossa is talking about. “I’m confused.”

Netossa makes a strangled-sounding kind of noise and pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is general advice. Not specific advice. Are you with me?”

“Yes.” Adora writes, _General Advice_ on the top of the page.

“Great. Most people enjoy being touched, especially in certain places. For example, breasts tend to be very sensitive.”

Adora briefly debates telling Netossa she already knows something about breasts before deciding that Catra will absolutely consider that to be crossing a line. As it is, Catra will be angry that she’s had this conversation at all. Still, at least they’ll know _something._ All Adora knows for sure at this point is that she wants to touch Catra’s breasts again, but without any clothing barriers. Belatedly, she realizes she hasn’t heard a word Netossa has said for the past several seconds.

“I’m so sorry. Could you repeat that?”

Netossa’s expression is pained. “The area between a person’s legs,” she says, clipping each word, “is also highly sensitive.”

Adora writes this down.

“That’s true for males and females of most humanoid species,” Netossa says. “But since I have zero experience with men, and you’re asking specifically about you and Catra, everything I’m saying applies only to females. Okay?”

“Yes. Got it.” Adora writes _Only Females_ below _General Advice._

“The best way to learn what I’m about to tell you will be to try it on yourself, first. Exploring yourself—learning what feels good and what doesn’t—is important before you touch or are touched by anyone else.”

“Okay.” Adora writes _Explore Myself_ below _Only Females._

“There are two places between a woman’s legs that usually give pleasure. The first is a cluster of nerves on the outside of her body. The second is a spot inside her body.”

“Can you be more specific?” Adora asks.

“General Advice!” Netossa says hotly.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Adora writes _Outside_ and then _Inside_ in the _Touching_ column.

“Kissing works similarly,” Netossa says. “Many people enjoy being kissed all over their bodies, not only on the lips.”

“Right! Like—” Adora is about to share how she kissed a bruise into Catra’s neck, when she remembers herself. “Never mind.”

Netossa smirks. “Seems like you have some experience with advanced kissing?”

Adora, blushing, holds up her thumb and forefinger with barely any space between.

“Fair enough. Now listen up, because this is the most important advice I’m going to give you.”

Adora blinks and clutches her pen more tightly. She is ready. She won’t miss a word.

“Because every person is unique, there’s no way to know for sure what kinds of touching and kissing will give pleasure. You and Catra should always communicate about what feels good and what doesn’t. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” Netossa’s frown deepens. “You always need to respect her decision to stop, and she always needs to respect yours.”

“I understand.” Adora squeezes in _Respect_ above _General Advice._ Then, she circles it. She would never want Catra to feel uncomfortable. What’s more, despite their tumultuous past, she is now certain that Catra doesn’t want to hurt her. Not anymore.

“Being physically intimate with someone is a vulnerable experience,” Netossa continues. “It can feel a little scary to explore that vulnerability, especially the first time. Don’t be surprised if it’s awkward. Just like anything, you get better at it the more you practice.”

Adora nods solemnly. She has always been a firm believer in practice.

“Communication and trust are vital. When you have those, the experience will be… beautiful. Even if it’s also awkward.” Netossa’s lips curve in a faint smile, and Adora wonders if she is thinking of Spinnerella.

Adora writes _Communication, Trust, Practice_ across both columns. She and Catra know how to practice together—though come to think of it, they only ever practiced fighting. This will be a refreshing change. As for communication and trust, both have been a challenge in the past. Adora draws little stars next to the words. Extra work will be required.

“Read back your notes to me,” Netossa says. “I want to make sure you didn’t hear anything wrong.”

“Good idea.” Adora flips back a few pages, then summarizes what Netossa has said.

“Not bad. Listen, there are a lot of nuances to physical intimacy that we haven’t discussed, but I think that’s all I can handle today.” Netossa scrubs at her face with both palms. “This has been excruciating, but… you can always ask more questions when you have them. I guess.”

“Really? Thank you!” Adora wants to hug Netossa, but she seems a bit exasperated. Better to give her space. “You’ve helped so much. If there’s anything I can do in return, you’ll let me know?”

Netossa laughs. “Believe me when I say I do _not_ need help from you in this department. But, you’re welcome. Just keep saving the world so we can all continue to enjoy it, okay?”

Adora salutes. Netossa rolls her eyes and goes to the door. Only then does Adora realize she has forgotten a crucially important question.

“Wait, one more thing. Do you think it would help if I build an obstacle course?”

Netossa looks at her like she’s grown extra eyes. “No!” Shaking her head and muttering under her breath, she leaves the room.

When the door shuts behind her, Adora picks up her notebook. She looks at the bed. Maybe it would be a good idea to lie down and try the exploring thing Netossa suggested? Then, she looks at the time. This morning, Glimmer had asked for more decorating assistance before dinner. With a sigh, Adora tucks the book under one arm and goes to find her friends.

As she wanders the halls, she can’t stop thinking about what she has learned. She’s nervous about sharing it with Catra, but not primarily because Catra might get mad. Angry Catra is familiar, and besides, Adora can’t imagine she’ll stay that way for long. No, she’s more nervous about how they will act on this knowledge and what it will mean when they do. Her desire to share this new kind of intimacy with Catra is as strong as her fear that she’ll mess up and drive them apart again.

 _Communication, Trust, Practice._ She can do this. They can do this.

Adora finds Glimmer in the gardens, but instead of ordering everyone around, she is putting on an impromptu light and water show with Mermista and Frosta. It’s very sparkly and pretty, and Adora stands still admiring their work for several seconds before Scorpia catches sight of her.

“Adora! Hi!” She waves the pincer not draped over Perfuma’s shoulders. Adora waves back.

“Adora!” Sea Hawk exclaims. “Bow and I have been discussing the lyrics and tune for your ballad. It’s going splendidly! Fortunately, ‘kiss’ is an eminently rhymable word.”

“There’s miss and abyss,” Bow says.

“Diss,” Mermista offers.

“Bliss!” Swift Wind chimes in.

“Hiss,” Perfuma says.

“Oh, that’s perfect for Catra,” Scorpia points out.

“How about ‘fists’?” Frosta shouts.

Mermista snickers. Sea Hawk guffaws. Adora has no idea why they are laughing. If Catra were here, she’d have some kind of witty comeback right now. As it is, all Adora can think to do through her embarrassment is to give them a weak smile and a thumbs-up.

“Glimmer, is there anything I can do to help?” She desperately wants to change the subject.

“We’re taking the night off,” Glimmer says. “We’ll do all the last-minute touches in the morning. Try to relax, okay?”

“Like that’ll happen,” Bow mutters.

Adora finds an unoccupied bench and takes out her notebook. She should be reviewing her speech for tomorrow, but instead she flips past it to her most recent notes. She reads them over slowly. The part about sensitive places outside and inside are still confusing. Maybe it will make more sense once she has done the self-exploration thing.

“Hey, Adora.” Catra’s low purr is warm against her ear.

Adora snaps the notebook shut and looks up, blushing furiously. “Catra! Where did you come from?” _And more importantly, what did you see?_

“Wow,” Mermista drawls. “It is, like, stupidly easy to sneak up on you, Adora.”

Catra plucks the notebook from Adora’s hand. “That’s it. You’re cut off.”

Adora feels as though her blood has turned to ice water. “But—”

“No. You heard Sea Hawk. Or, well, you probably didn’t, but this is ‘mellow chill time.’ Not ‘freak out over public speaking’ time.”

Adora’s eyes narrow. Okay. Catra thinks she was reviewing her speech notes. She didn’t see anything about the conversation with Netossa. Best to play along. “The _whole planet_ is going to be watching tomorrow,” she says. “I have to be perfect!”

“Aww, Adora,” Bow says. “You are per—”

“Zip it, Arrow Boy!” Catra points a claw in his direction. “Newsflash, Princess: you’re not perfect. None of us are.”

“Especially not you,” Mermista says.

“Ha, ha.” Catra’s expression softens. “Look, you’ve been practicing all week. You’re going to be great. So relax.”

There is no way Adora can relax while Catra is holding that notebook, but at least she doesn’t seem interested in the contents. Still, Adora has to get it away from her at the first opportunity. When Catra stretches out on the bench and pillows her head on Adora’s thigh, Adora reaches down to run her fingers through Catra’s hair. Maybe she can lull Catra into a false sense of security and reclaim the book—not to mention that it just feels incredibly good to touch her like this. Will she ever get used to it? She honestly can’t imagine that happening.

“How did it go with Spinnerella?” she asks.

Catra turns so one ear is pressed against Adora’s stomach. “Weirdly good.”

Adora smiles. _Weirdly good_ is better than she had hoped for. Perfuma has told her not to expect a quick fix for Catra’s guilt and fear, and she’s been trying to be patient. But patience has never been her strong suit, and she wants so desperately to be able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time without waking, panicked, to check that Catra is still in the room.

Catra rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you more about it later.”

“Okay.” Adora has plenty to tell her later, too. Though she should definitely prioritize what Catra has to say. According to Perfuma, she’s going to need a lot of time for processing.

Catra’s eyes are closed and she seems relaxed. Adora looks at the notebook. No time like the present. She makes a grab for it, but Catra is ready. She rolls off the bench and leaps away, tail lashing. _Damn it!_

“You are so slow!” Catra taunts.

“Am I?” Adora sprints toward her, but Catra immediately tosses the book to Sea Hawk.

“Is this a thrilling keep-away adventure?” he asks hopefully.

“Don’t you dare set my notes on fire!” _And don’t you dare look at them, either,_ Adora adds silently. She isn’t sure which scenario would be more disastrous.

“Me, me, me!” Frosta is yelling. “I’m open!”

Frosta tosses the book to Glimmer, who extends it toward Adora. For a moment, Adora is relieved—until Glimmer teleports to wrong-Hordak and hands it to him instead. _Traitor._ As the game unfolds, Adora debates whether to stop it. Everyone is laughing and hollering, and she doesn’t want to deprive them of their fun. But if someone takes it into their head to open that book, she’s doomed.

She finally acts when Bow throws the book toward Entrapta. Curiosity is Entrapta’s defining attribute—and what’s more, she has no sense of what other people find embarrassing. Adora can easily imagine her flipping open to the wrong page and reading everything on it out loud.

She summons She-Ra and lassos the notebook easily. When it returns to her hands, she breathes a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, for the present.

“Adoraaaa,” Frosta whines.

“That was highly enjoyable!” Wrong-Hordak exclaims. “Why did we stop?”

In a flash of inspiration, the idea comes to her—a way to deflect attention from the notebook while also exacting revenge on Catra. “Because it’s time for a new game.” She grins. “Catch the cat.”

Catra’s ears twitch violently. “Now wait just—”

“You get a five-second head start. Five, four—”

As Catra races for the cover of the trees, Adora can’t help but be impressed by the alacrity with which everyone turns their attention to capturing their former nemesis. Everyone except Glimmer.

“Teleportation feels like cheating in this context,” she says as the others pound after Catra. She arches one eyebrow. “You’d better hurry if you plan to be the one to catch her.”

Adora smirks. She finds it a lot easier to smirk when she’s She-Ra. Why is that? Then, with a magic-fueled leap, she propels herself over the hedgerows to find Catra menaced by both Mermista and Perfuma. She scoops Catra up, then jumps away.

“Hey, Catra.”

“You _are_ mean.”

Adora laughs. “I’m not. Do you really think I would’ve let anyone else catch you?”

Catra’s weight is light against her body—too light. She doesn’t eat enough. Adora makes a note to talk to her about that sometime soon as they descend. Once they are back on solid ground, the others converge on them.

“I almost had her,” Mermista grouches. “Thanks a lot.”

“ _I_ almost had her!” Bow protests.

Adora releases She-Ra’s energy, feeling it flow down and out, into Etheria. “Yeah, well, you all lose. She’s mine.” At first, she worries that this possessiveness will anger Catra. Instead, Catra leans into her more heavily. Adora tightens her grip.

“I’m hungry,” Frosta declares.

“Is someone having a growth spurt?” Glimmer’s tone is saccharine.

“Shut up!”

“Is it time for another feast?” Wrong-Hordak asks. “I am eager to learn about more varieties of solid food.”

“He is so weird,” Swift Wind says. “Though he’s awfully skilled at braiding.”

“Nothing good ever happened on an empty stomach,” Scorpia declares. She holds out her arm to Perfuma. “Let’s go eat.”

They fall in line with the others, but Catra remains quiet. “You okay?” Adora asks. Maybe _Catch the Cat_ was a bad idea. She starts to feel a little panicky. What if she just undercut whatever progress Catra made with Spinnerella? “Did I go too far there, inciting them to chase you?”

“Nah. It made me all nostalgic for the old days.” Catra nudges Adora with an elbow. “Not really. Don’t worry. But I’m glad you were the one to catch me.”

“Always.” Relieved, Adora smiles. It’s a promise. Maybe Catra isn’t ready to reciprocate yet, but that’s okay. She’s going to make the promise anyway.

*

After leaving Adora’s room, Netossa stops by the palace kitchens for a jug of wine. She definitely deserves it after that ambush. She makes a net to hold the jug, then heads toward the rooms she shares with Spinnerella. She knocks on the door, hoping Catra has gone.

After a few seconds, Spinny opens it. Her eyes are a little red, a little puffy.

“Are you okay?” Netossa sets down the wine and reaches for her.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Spinny kisses her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. “Talking to Catra was therapeutic for me, too.”

“Really?” Netossa can hear her own skepticism. Catra probably deserves better from her at this point, but old prejudices die hard.

“Truly. It helps to talk to someone else who was chipped.”

Netossa kisses her gently. The tenderness she feels is laced with a latent rage for Prime. Sometimes, she fantasizes that he isn’t gone and she gets to kill him herself.

When they finally pull apart to breathe, Spinny smiles. “Is that wine?”

“Mm.” Netossa follows her into their living room. “Adora asked me to come over while Catra was with you. She wanted to know what comes after kissing.”

Spinny laughs, loud and long, and it’s music to Netossa’s ears. She can still remember despairing that she would ever hear that sound again.

“She didn’t,” Spinny gasps.

“Oh, but she did.” Netossa sits at the table while Spinny fetches glasses. “The Horde taught them _nothing_ , Spinny. Nothing except fear.”

Spinny sombers. “That’s awful.”

“I just hope my advice wasn’t awful. She caught me off guard.” Netossa pours them each a plentiful serving.

“I’m sure you did fine. They’re smart girls, and they love each other. They’ll figure it out.”

Netossa grimaces. “Well, I did tell Adora she can ask more questions if need be. So I think this topic is going to come back like a bad penny.”

Spinny raises her glass. “We’ll be ready.” When Netossa clinks it lightly, they both take a long sip.

“Speaking of which,” Spinny says after a few minutes of companionable silence, “how would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon reminding me what happens after kissing?”

Netossa arches one eyebrow. “I did try to impress upon Adora the importance of practicing.”

“Well then,” Spinny’s cheeks dimple. “Shouldn’t we practice what you preached?”

“Your name should be ‘Punnerella.’”

Spinny stands and raises her arms. The wind she summons peels away her vest and tugs at Netossa’s jacket. “No. It shouldn’t.”

Netossa swallows hard. Desire sings through her veins. “Yes, dear.”


	8. Mer-Mysteries: The Case of the Shantying Scorpion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No! No!” Adora yanks it out and furiously blows on the flames. In the aftermath of her efforts, she scrutinizes the marshmallow while breathing heavily. “Okay. I don’t think it’s ruined. Here.”
> 
> She peels it off the stick slowly, exposing the gooey center beneath the lightly charred surface. Everyone watches as she holds it up to Catra’s mouth. Catra wants to lean forward and close her lips around Adora’s fingertips. She wants to pull the marshmallow into her mouth, then lick Adora clean. Instead, she takes the marshmallow in her fingers and swallows it down. It’s intensely sweet—the way the color pink should taste.
> 
> \---
> 
> Listen, I was ready to get to the "practicing." I really was. Instead, the gang wanted to go to Mystacor (WOO!) and toast marshmallows and do Mad Libs. I don't even know, but I do what they want.

“People of Etheria!” King Micah’s arms are outstretched as he stands before the podium. “Welcome to the Magic Restoration Festival!”

Catra struggles not to roll her eyes. It’s still the dumbest name ever. She is standing on the dais next to Glimmer and Adora, who keeps shooting her inquisitive looks Catra pretends not to see. Below them, the courtyard is filled with people cheering and shouting for the newly restored king of Bright Moon. Not for the first time, Catra wonders whether Glimmer is relieved or angry about her father taking charge. Probably a bit of both.

“Catra! What are you doing up here?” Adora whispers beneath the roar of the crowd.

“Glimmer asked me to speak, too,” Catra says out of the corner of her mouth.

Adora’s eyes go wide, but she controls the rest of her face for once. “What?” she hisses. “You let me freak out all week about my speech and never mentioned yours?”

“That’s about it, yeah.”

“Will you two shut up?” Glimmer growls.

Micah continues talking. He explains his banishment to Beast Island, the rescue mission that freed him, his brief association with the Rebellion before being chipped. He speaks eloquently about the horror of being forced to attack his daughter and the burden of guilt he feels now. In her peripheral vision, Catra sees Glimmer tear up, and she reaches across the space between them to squeeze her hand. Glimmer is startled by this but recovers quickly, squeezing back.

Catra sees what Micah is doing, perhaps more clearly than anyone else. He is creating empathy between himself and everyone else who was chipped. In so doing, he is also subtly undercutting the differences between Etherians and the Horde. So many Etherian civilians became unwilling members of the Horde in the end, fighting for Prime while internally battling themselves. Will they feel a heightened sense of compassion for their stolen and abandoned children who were conscripted and indoctrinated under Hordak’s rule? Isn’t indoctrination a less technologically sophisticated form of chipping?

At this thought, Catra realizes she needs to change her speech on the fly. Good thing she never wrote anything down in the first place—unlike Adora, who has memorized her notes backward and forward.

“Please join me in welcoming Adora, the She-Ra, hero of Etheria!”

Adora steps up to the podium. She smiles, but her rigid posture belies her nerves. The air shimmers. Catra expects her to shout the familiar words for the benefit of all the onlookers, but instead, Adora transforms as fluidly as she did yesterday in the gardens. The theatrics were always a crutch, as it turns out. Catra feels absurdly proud that she was the one to lead Adora to that realization.

She doesn’t shield her eyes from She-Ra’s radiance. They water. That’s okay.

By this point, Catra knows Adora’s speech nearly verbatim. Adora speaks of the power of friendship and teamwork, and her words are uplifting and inspirational. She tells the true story of the First Ones—how they came to Etheria to steal its magic, and how they sought to bind She-Ra to their own power-hungry purpose. She explains that without Catra, the magic of the Heart would not have been released before Prime destroyed the planet. The magic belongs to all of them now. It has been restored because forgiveness and love are stronger than hate and fear.

Watching her, Catra feels warm and mushy inside. It is still so new to be able to relax into these feelings without shame. She loves Adora, and Adora loves her back. Adora, who is wearing her heart on her sleeve before the entire population of the planet. Doesn’t she always? And isn’t that generosity the best part of her?

Thunderous applause greets the end of her speech. Catra joins in without any irony whatsoever. When She-Ra extends a hand and says her name, Catra joins her. This wasn’t part of the plan—Adora didn’t even know she’d be up here. Improvisation for the win.

Light shudders around them as She-Ra transforms back into Adora, and then Adora is kissing her. This is not a peck on the lips: it’s a deep, soul-searing kiss like the one they shared in the Heart. Over the thunder of her own accelerating pulse, Catra hears the cheering grow even louder. By the time Adora releases her, Catra is breathless. Great. Just in time for her public remarks.

Looking rather smug, Adora returns to stand next to Glimmer. Fair enough—Adora has gotten her revenge on Catra for keeping her own speech a secret. When she grips the podium, her claws protrude slightly. She clears her throat and decides the best way forward is through self-deprecation.

“Well, that was something _,_ ” she begins.

The crowd laughs. A few more cheers are mixed in. Catra’s ears prick, and the tension between her shoulders eases just a little. She waits for the noise to die down.

“Most of you know me as an enemy. What you might not know is that Adora and I were both orphans raised by the Horde.” Catra decides to leave out the part about baby Adora adopting her after the Horde found her in a box at the gates of the Fright Zone. That’s just embarrassing. “We were trained to be soldiers, alongside other stolen or abandoned Etherian children. Shadow Weaver—you might have heard of her as Light Spinner—taught us that the princesses were evil and untrustworthy. She was good at manipulation and indoctrination. I know it’s hard to imagine right now, but even Adora used to wholeheartedly believe the Horde was in the right. Not me, though. I’ve never been good at listening to authority figures. And besides, I could see what the Horde was doing—the devastation they were causing. I knew we weren’t on the side of the angels.”

The crowd is very quiet now. Catra takes a deep breath. “When Adora did realize the truth and left the Horde, she asked me to join her. I wish now that I had. Instead, I let my anger eat me alive. Almost every time I had a chance to do the right thing, I doubled down on doing the wrong thing. Worst of all, I’m the one responsible for the fact that Queen Angella isn’t here today. I opened the portal that she sacrificed herself to close.”

There are a few gasps, a few murmurs. Apparently this is news to more than a few of Bright Moon’s citizens. Catra feels her ears flatten, and she maintains the smoothness of her tail with an effort. At this point, the only way out is through.

“When I opened that portal, I knew it was unstable. I was so angry at everything and everyone that I didn’t care. It took being stranded on an alien space ship and getting chipped for me to realize how messed up that was.”

Catra looks to where Micah and Glimmer are standing together. There is a crease on his brow; he is in pain. Glimmer’s eyes are too bright. For a moment, Catra thinks the guilt will suffocate her. Then, her gaze slides to Adora, whose expression holds nothing but love and compassion, all of it directed at her. Melog, leaning against her legs, chirps softly at her. The pressure in Catra’s chest eases just enough.

“I’m sorry, Etheria. For everything. I’m only here today because Adora, Glimmer, Bow, and Entrapta gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve it. Despite everything I’d done, they thought I was worth saving. Even when _I_ didn’t.”

As she looks out over the sea of people, Catra feels an unexpected calm settle over her. That was the hardest part, and it’s over. Now comes the most important part—taking care of the people she neglected in her rage and despair.

“Right now, there are a lot of confused Horde soldiers all over the planet who don’t know their place in this new world order. Unlike me, they actually do deserve a second chance. I hope you’ll find it in your hearts to give it to them. They’re Etherians too, after all.”

When she steps away from the podium, silence reigns for several seconds before the applause begins. It starts as a trickle, but soon it roars like a waterfall. When Glimmer pulls her into an embrace, the volume increases.

“I _am_ sorry,” Catra whispers.

“I know,” Glimmer whispers back. Then, she moves away to take Catra’s place before the crowd.

Adora reaches for her hand as soon as she is within range. She laces their fingers together, then holds on tight. Catra clings back. Making the speech felt a little like lancing poison from a wound. She is tired and sore, but the pain of her guilt is somewhat less than it was.

Glimmer, she soon realizes, is speaking about her own guilt. The Queen of Bright Moon has made serious mistakes, and Catra didn’t realize the half of it. As Glimmer tells the story of activating the Heart of Etheria, Catra steals a glance at Adora. She looks stoic, which usually means she’s trying not to cry. When Catra squeezes her fingers gently, the set of Adora’s lips softens. She squeezes back. Maybe she _does_ understand what it felt like to be chipped. Isn’t that what the First Ones did to her by creating the sword? They tried to control her, to make her use her power for their selfish ends instead of for her own reasons. That’s about as close to chipping as one can get.

Glimmer’s speech ends with an appeal like Catra’s—an supplication for reconciliation and peace. Catra thinks of Lonnie and Kyle and Rogelio and feels absurdly grateful. They absolutely deserve a do-over. It’s one thing for Catra of the Evil Horde to advocate for it. It’s quite another for the Queen of Bright Moon to ask her people to step up.

Afterward, Adora doesn’t let go of her hand. They descend the dais together, where they are surrounded by their friends. Catra feels a little claustrophobic at first, until she realizes everyone there is happy for her. Even Hordak.

“I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye,” he says. Catra wants to laugh and maintains her equilibrium only with an effort. She distinctly remembers him blasting the Fright Zone to pieces with his arm cannon during their last disagreement. “But your words were important. You have helped to give what is left of the Horde a chance at a new life.”

“All of Etheria is going to love you.” Bow pulls her in for a one-armed hug. “Just wait and see.”

“Your speech was deeply impactful,” Perfuma adds. “Thank you for your courage.”

“Wildcat! You were amazing!”

“You and Adora are childhood sweethearts?” There are stars in Sea Hawk’s eyes. “How epic!”

“We were not _sweethearts_!” Catra says automatically.

“We weren’t?” Adora’s tone is plaintive, but her eyes are sparkling.

As the banter continues around her, Catra realizes she does, in fact, want to have been Adora’s childhood sweetheart. If this is revisionist history, she doesn’t particularly care. Then, she remembers a young Adora skipping dinner rations to keep her company while Catra was sulking after lashing out against Lonnie. Maybe they really _were_ childhood sweethearts without even realizing it. Figures.

In her peripheral vision, Catra sees Glimmer step away from a conversation between her dad and aunt. “Be right back,” she says to Adora, releasing her hand. “Hey. Sparkles.”

Glimmer turns with an arched brow. “What?”

“Are you okay? Your speech was intense.”

Glimmer smiles faintly. “Surprised you don’t have a moratorium on making planet-sized mistakes?”

“Heh. Maybe.”

“We’re weirdly alike in some frightening ways,” Glimmer says.

Once, the thought of her having anything in common with a princess—especially the most useless one—would have been gag-inducing. Now, Catra thinks Glimmer is right. She’s also far from useless. Not that she’ll admit any of that.

“Whatever. Look, I also wanted to say thank you. For what you said. For trying to protect what’s left of the Horde.”

Music blossoms on the air, distracting them both. A group of musicians have set up shop on the dais and are playing a lively tune. Catra watches as Netossa pulls Spinerella into her arms, and they begin to waltz.

“Queen Glimmer.” Catra turns to see Bow, hand outstretched and smiling. “May I have this dance?”

Even her blush sparkles. Catra’s snort earns an eye roll from Glimmer as he leads her away. As Catra watches them go, a pair of arms slides around her waist.

“She-Ra, is that you?”

“She-Ra isn’t here right now,” Adora says. “But she can be, if you’d rather dance with her.”

“Who said anything about dancing?” Catra leans back into the embrace.

“Admit it.” Adora’s lips graze her ear. “You like to dance.”

“I’m certainly better at it than you are.” Catra turns in the circle of her arms. Adora’s hopeful smile makes her feel like ice cream left out in the sun. She bares one fang. “Fine. But I’m leading.”

“Okay.”

This ready acquiescence isn’t what Catra expected, but she’s happy to roll with it. She guides Adora out onto the floor, then rests one palm on her hip while joining their opposite hands. “Try to keep up, princess.”

At first, Adora’s movements are stiff and she wears a familiar look of concentration. Catra knows exactly what’s going on in that hyperactive brain of hers—she is counting all the steps, trying to be perfect. When Catra tightens her grip, Adora meets her gaze.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

Adora’s smile is sheepish. “Sorry.”

Catra can feel her trying, and she rewards the effort with a brush of her lips against Adora’s jaw. This has the added benefit of making Adora melt into her, and now they are finally moving in synchrony. It’s unequivocally amazing to sweep her around and around in wide arcs. When they cross paths with Scorpia and Perfuma, a crown of flowers materializes on top of Adora’s head, and Catra feels the brush of petals against her ears.

“Why does she always do that?” she grouses.

“It’s her way of telling you she likes you,” Adora says. “Just grin and bear it, will you?”

“Tell me the flowers aren’t pink, at least.”

“Ah. Nope.” Adora’s lips twitch.

“You’re a terrible liar. Hey. Ready for something new?”

Before she can answer, Catra pulls Adora closer, then spins her into a dip so deep her ponytail brushes the floor. Adora stares up at her, wide-eyed. The vulnerability in her expression fills Catra with a possessive energy that seethes beneath her skin. She presses her forehead to Adora’s, then raises her slowly. They stand still for a moment, breaths mingling. Catra wishes everyone else in Bright Moon would disappear. Not permanently—it’s not like she’s regressing—just temporarily. She wants to push Adora against the nearest wall and kiss her everywhere. The vehemence with which she wants this is both exhilarating and terrifying. It takes every ounce of focus she possesses to maintain a gentle grip on Adora.

The tension dissipates as the music changes, slowing. Adora blinks, then frowns. “This rhythm doesn’t match any of the dances I studied for the Princess Prom. What do we do?”

Catra looks around. Netossa and Spinny are loosely embracing each other and rocking back and forth. That seems as good a plan as any. “We’ll follow their lead,” she says, pointing.

For some reason, this makes Adora blush, but she is quick to emulate the way Spinny’s arms are wrapped around Netossa’s neck. Catra cups Adora’s waist, pulling her close until the space between their bodies disappears. She presses her face into Adora’s shoulder and shivers when Adora strokes up and down her back.

“Catra,” Adora whispers. Her gaze drops to Catra’s mouth. “I want to kiss you.”

Catra licks her lips. “Then kiss me, idiot,” she says hoarsely. “You didn’t have any trouble doing it in front of the whole planet.”

Adora’s muffles her laugh in Catra’s hair. Her breaths are coming quickly. “No. I mean. I want to kiss you while we’re lying down. On our bed.”

The words ignite a fever beneath her skin. Catra has to bite down on her lower lip, _hard,_ to keep from making a sound. Adora wants to kiss her while lying down on _their_ bed. Every cell in her body is demanding that she drag Adora into the palace immediately. She presses her mouth to that delicious spot just below Adora’s ear and lets one fang slide across her skin. Adora trembles, and the rush of power that sweeps through Catra is exponentially sweeter than any other victory.

“Yeah?”

“Obviously we can’t right now,” Adora says, a little shakily. “But I wish we could.”

“Why can’t we?” Catra murmurs against Adora’s neck. She wants to lay a trail of kisses down the column of Adora’s throat, down into the dip between her breasts. She can imagine how they will look—pale and full and perfect—and she wants to caress each swell with her lips. She has seen Adora without her shirt on before, in the showers of the Fright Zone, but she always looked away quickly. Now, she wants to look and touch leisurely, without shame.

“Because we’re kind of the guests of honor?”

The daydream shatters. Right. That. Ugh. No one would care about Catra disappearing when the party has only just begun, but everyone would notice Adora’s absence. Catra pulls back just enough to look into Adora’s eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready to leave, I’m ready.” She watches the flush grow across the bridge of Adora’s nose with more than a little satisfaction.

“Brothers!”

If anyone other than wrong-Hordak had interrupted them in this moment, Catra suspects she might have lashed out with a fist. But punching wrong-Hordak would be like punching a baby, and Catra has never been _that_ awful. She takes a long, deep breath to cool her rage.

“The feasting has begun!”

Adora releases Catra, then gives wrong-Hordak an affectionate shoulder pat. “Thanks for letting us know. Did you cook any of it?”

“I frosted the tiny cakes!”

“Let’s just hope Entrapta doesn’t eat them all before we get there,” Catra says.

Wrong-Hordak’s eyes widen dramatically. “We must hurry!”

“We’re right behind you,” Adora reassures him.

Long tables with benches for seats have been set up both inside and outside the Great Hall. The food is indoors, and Catra’s jaw drops at the variety. They find Glimmer and Bow filling up their plates, and the Etherians around them are more than happy to allow both Catra and She-Ra to cut the line. Catra watches in amusement as Adora takes a helping of literally everything and then piles three buttery-soft rolls on top.

“I told Swift Wind to save us a table outside,” Bow says.

It turns out that Swift Wind is saving them a table by standing on it, wings outstretched and head raised in a magnificent pose. To his evident delight, several onlookers are openly admiring him, though they scatter as the heroes of Etheria approach.

“Swifty, get down from there or I’m not giving you this apple,” Adora threatens.

“Where’s my ‘thank you, noble steed’?” Swift Wind pouts.

“Thank you, noble steed, for putting your hooves all over the table we’re about to have a meal on.” But Adora is smiling, and she leans against Swift Wind’s flank while feeding him the promised apple.

“Bird Horse!” Entrapta approaches carrying two plates of tiny food in her hands, and two more in her hair. “Do you like cake?”

“Nay. But I get the feeling Melog might.”

Melog shimmers into visibility, and it turns out they have been there all along, lounging on one of the benches. They yawn, then butt their forehead against Catra’s legs.

“Wait,” Catra says. “You can communicate with Melog?”

“Not ‘communicate,’ exactly. But sometimes I can sense their emotions.”

Huh. That’s weird. Still, Swift Wind isn’t wrong about what Melog wants and Catra has to laugh as they leap off the bench to sit, with perfect politeness, before Entrapta.

“Here you go, Space Kitty!” She drops a tiny cake into Melog’s mouth, and they immediately begin to purr.

More friends join them, then more still. Catra finds herself squeezed between Adora and Scorpia, whose shoulders are just stupidly broad. Adora’s arm is wrapped around Catra, and Catra is stroking her fingers along Adora’s thigh, and everyone is either smiling, laughing, or their mouth is stuffed with food. Is this really real life now? When will the other shoe finally drop?

Catra experiences a moment of vertigo, but thankfully, it disappears as quickly as it arrived. Is it actually possible that there _is_ no other shoe? Not that she wears shoes, anyway. Stupid metaphor.

“This party is even more fun than the last time we all went dancing together!” Scorpia says with a big grin on her face.

This remark is met with silence. Catra winces. Even Perfuma looks pained. Scorpia’s smile disappears.

“Oh. Right. Um. I am so sorry for kidnapping you!” She looks between Bow and Glimmer.

“You may have ruined my Princess Prom,” Frosta says, “but you can make it all up to us once it’s your turn to host.”

“And I will!” Scorpia is quick to declare. “I so will. I promise.”

The muscles in Adora’s leg are tense beneath Catra’s fingers. “Hey,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Just… remembering.” Adora’s smile is sad. “When you let go. Of my hand, on the ice wall.”

A shard of pain pierces Catra. She remembers that night with brutal clarity: taunting Adora, dancing with Adora, the strength of Adora’s palm against her back when she saved Catra from falling off that cliff. The buzz of Lonnie’s voice her ear bud, announcing their ship was directly beneath her. Relief and loss as she released Adora’s hand, only to gloat in triumph as the ship soared away with Bow and Glimmer as their prisoners.

“I tried hard to get you out of my system,” Catra says quietly. “I’m sorry. In case you’re wondering, it never worked.”

“Never?”

Catra shakes her head.

“You still want to let go, sometimes.”

Catra wants to close her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Adora’s pain. Instead, she forces herself to meet that liquid gaze without flinching.

“I don’t,” she breathes. “Not really. Only when it all seems hopeless. And I’m working on it. You know I am.”

“I know.” Adora pulls her closer. “It’s my turn to be sorry. This isn’t the best time or place for this conversation.”

“S’okay.” Catra leans her head against Adora’s shoulder. Slowly, her heart rate returns to normal. This is going to happen a lot, she realizes. They are going to have to pick at scabs and expose a few wounds. But if that means they can all heal more cleanly, then so be it.

“I have a surprise,” Glimmer announces, pink sparkles flying around her face. “Guess where we’re all going in a few hours?”

“To SPACE?” Entrapta yells.

“Ah, no.” Glimmer frowns. “We are definitely not ready for space. We haven’t even re-provisioned Mara’s ship, and I am _not_ eating any more rehydrated protein slaw.”

Catra silently cheers. That stuff was only marginally better than the Horde’s rations.

“We’re going on vacation to Mystacor!” Glimmer beams. “It’s all arranged—we have cabins on the cloud beach and private access to the steam grotto.”

“WOO!” Bow shouts with a fist pump.

“Cloud beach?” Mermista looks skeptical. “A beach without water?”

“I’ve heard you can swim in the clouds,” Perfuma says.

“That’s true,” Glimmer says. “I did it with my dad when I was little.”

“Can we have an ice ball tournament?” Frosta asks eagerly.

“Of course! We can do whatever we want, for three whole days.”

Catra wants to ask Glimmer whether she and Adora can have a cabin to themselves, but that might raise more questions than she’s prepared to answer. She knows it’s uncharitable to resent this gift that Glimmer clearly worked hard on, and that everyone else is so excited about. Still, what Catra wants more than anything else is time alone with Adora.

“Hordak and I don’t have time for a vacation,” Entrapta declares. “Can you take us back to the Fright Zone before you leave?” Then, her eyes narrow. “And also, thank you for including us.”

“But Entrapta,” Bow wheedles. “If you come with us, you can explore the ruins of Arxia. It was a First One’s outpost.”

“Why didn’t you say so!” Entrapta exclaims. “We’re in!”

*

Thankfully, there are plenty of cabins, and no one bats an eye when Adora and Catra claim one together. The room is small but cozy, and the bed is actually larger than the one in Adora’s room at Bright Moon. Catra tests out the mattress with one hand. Nice. Her lingering resentment bleeds away.

“What are you thinking?” Adora asks from behind her.

Catra turns. Adora has taken her hair down, and filaments of gold frame her face. She seems softer this way, more vulnerable. A fresh wave of posessiveness rises in Catra, and she closes the distance between them.

“I was thinking that kissing in bed is back on the agenda,” she murmurs, gaze flickering between Adora’s lips and eyes.

“Since when did you start making agendas?” Adora is smiling. “Am I rubbing off on you?”

This question sends a jolt of energy through Catra that is accompanied by a vivid mental image of Adora, shirtless, breasts sliding against her own. She clenches her teeth to hold back a groan. When she blinks, she discovers that Adora’s eyes have gone very wide and her face is very red. Is it possible their minds went to the same place?

“What are _you_ thinking?” Catra slips one finger beneath Adora’s belt and tugs lightly. “Hmm?”

“I…” Adora looks away.

“It’s okay.” Catra has made an art form of teasing Adora, but in this moment, she wants only to reassure her. “You can trust me.”

When she says the word _trust_ , Adora’s gaze snaps back to hers. She gives a determined nod. “I just meant it as, you know, an expression. But then I—um. I thought about how your skin. Would feel. On my skin.”

The words sear her like lighting. Catra tries to swallow, fails, and finally manages on the second attempt. “I was thinking that, too.”

“Really?” Adora’s voice is small.

“Really.”

They stand there, smiling nervously at each other. Sounds filter in from outside: Bow’s tentative strumming, Scorpia’s enthusiastic appreciation of the view, Glimmer asking Frosta to find sticks for roasting marshmallows.

“Have you ever had a marshmallow?” Adora asks. When Catra shakes her head, she smiles. “They’re not to be missed.”

Catra knows Adora loves her. She knows it because Adora has never been able to let her fall, and because Adora rescued her despite everything, and because in the end, their kiss saved the universe. Even so, she can’t help needing some reassurance. Once, not so long ago, she would rather have gouged out someone’s eye than admit it.

“But we’ll keep talking about this later?”

“We will.” Adora leans in for a gentle, lingering kiss. “I promise.”

They emerge from their cabin to the sight of a glorious moonset—streaks of red and purple and gold arcing through the sky. Sea Hawk is building a bonfire on the edge of the beach. Mermista bends down to examine the cloud-waves.

“This is so _bizarre,_ ” she says in a mixture of curiosity and horror.

“They make my fingers feel tingly!” Wrong-Hordak announces, stirring the clouds with one hand.

“How can you swim in them?” Perfuma asks.

“Won’t we plummet to our deaths?” Frosta adds. She sounds almost delighted at the prospect. What a weird kid.

“Magic,” Glimmer says simply. She settles on a log next to Bow. “How do you think this place is floating in the air?”

Catra perches on another log. Adora sits on the sand at her feet and leans back, resting her head against Catra’s stomach. Catra slides one hand into Adora’s hair, sifting the flaxen strands between her fingers. Adora hums a soft, contented sound. It’s as close to a purr as she can get, and Catra soaks it in. Their friends settle around them—wrong-Hordak reclining against Swift Wind, Perfuma snuggling into Scorpia, Mermista leaning into Sea Hawk’s knee. Melog appears to have adopted Frosta for the night, and their tail is curled around her protectively.

Sticks and marshmallows are passed around. Catra takes a cautious nibble. It’s sticky and horrifically sweet, but maybe in a fun way. Adora scrutinizes her marshmallow, then pierces it through the precise middle. Like a dweeb.

“Let me toast one for you first,” she says to Catra.

“You’ve never toasted a marshmallow?” Frosta’s horror drips from her voice.

“Yeah, that’s not how we spent evenings in the Horde.” Catra tries to keep her tone light. “Anyway. Adora seems obsessed with them. So.”

Adora is very intensely focused on the marshmallow, which she is holding up to the edge of the fire. “Huh? What?”

“Nevermind, dork.” Catra nudges her with an elbow. “Don’t mess it up.”

The nudge sends the marshmallow deeper into the flames, where it promptly catches fire.

“No! No!” Adora yanks it out and furiously blows on the flames. In the aftermath of her efforts, she scrutinizes the marshmallow while breathing heavily. “Okay. I don’t think it’s ruined. Here.”

She peels it off the stick slowly, exposing the gooey center beneath the lightly charred surface. Everyone watches as she holds it up to Catra’s mouth. Catra wants to lean forward and close her lips around Adora’s fingertips. She wants to pull the marshmallow into her mouth, then lick Adora clean. Instead, she takes the marshmallow in her fingers and swallows it down. It’s intensely sweet—the way the color pink should taste.

“Well?” Frosta demands.

“It’s… a lot,” Catra says. In her peripheral vision, she sees Adora licking her own fingers and feels suddenly light-headed. “But good.”

There are several minutes of debate as to the proper way to toast a marshmallow before the conversation subsides into a comfortable silence. Adora has gone back to leaning her head on Catra’s belly, and Catra couldn’t keep her fingers out of Adora’s hair if the fate of the world hung in the balance.

“I love seeing you with your hair down, Adora.” Perfuma breaks the quiet. “You seem more relaxed this way.”

“Speaking of which: last time we came here for a vacation, you couldn’t relax to save your life,” Bow says with a grin. “Turns out all you needed was Catra?”

Catra freezes, but Adora hooks one arm around her leg and cuddles closer. “Sounds about right,” she says.

“Aww, Wildcat.” Scorpia’s smile is broad. “Look how much good you’re doing.”

_Look how much good you’re doing._

Catra blinks hard against sudden tears. Hopefully none of them can tell in the flickering light of the fire. Adora twists to look up at her, raising one hand to touch her face. She doesn’t speak, but the silent reassurance is all that’s needed.

“You’re all such saps,” Catra says. Her voice is rough with emotion, and she feels more than a little embarrassed. Still, nothing actually bad has happened. No one has been cruel. No one has hurt her, despite this display of weakness that she can’t quite seem to hide.

Not weakness. What was it Perfuma had said? _It’s hard, keeping your heart open. It makes you vulnerable. But it doesn’t make you weak._

Glimmer clears her throat. “Does anyone have a ghost story to tell?”

“Oh!” Adora sits up, dislodging Catra’s hand. “How about ‘The Tale of the Headless—’”

“ _No,_ ” Bow and Glimmer say in synchrony.

“You’re missing out,” Adora mutters.

“You’re not,” Catra says. “Don’t listen to her. That one’s lame and not at all scary.”

“I brought _Mer-Mysteries_ Mad Libs,” Mermista says. “Let’s do one of those.”

“Yes!” Sea Hawk raises a fist, eyes sparkling. “A thrilling Mad Libs Mystery Adventure!”

Frosta groans. “You are so old.”

“What the hell is a Mad Lib?” Catra asks.

“It’s a story. Part of it exists already, and part we make up as a group. And it’s going to be amazing.” Mermista riffles through her own knapsack.

“I am honestly excited,” Perfuma says. “Mostly because I’ve never heard Mermista call anything ‘amazing.’”

“Except herself,” says Frosta.

Beneath her hands, Catra feels Adora shaking with silent laughter. She parts Adora’s hair, then leans in to kiss her nape. When Adora shivers, Catra smiles against her skin.

“Okay. As long as you know the parts of speech, you can play this game,” Mermista announces. “I need a word ending in ‘-ing’ and also a noun.”

“What are the parts of speech?” asks wrong-Hordak.

“Seriously?” Frosta’s syllables are peeved.

“Yeah, seriously?” Catra laughs. “Even _we_ learned the damn parts of speech. Shadow Weaver hated improper syntax.”

“Ahem, people! An -ing word and a noun!”

“Shantying!” shouts Sea Hawk.

“Scorpion!” exclaims Scorpia.

“I don’t think you can turn a noun into a verb like that, Sea Hawk. But for tonight only, I’ll let it slide.” Mermista squints at the paper in her hands. “Okay, I need the name of a person in the room and also an adjective.”

“Catra,” Glimmer says slyly.

“I hate you, Sparkles.”

“Adorable,” Bow chimes in, with a wink at Adora.

“Now we need a liquid.”

“Amniotic fluid?” wrong-Hordak says hopefully.

“That’s not disturbing at all,” Mermista says, writing it down. “Okay, proper noun time.”

“Mystacor?” Perfuma frowns. “I don’t think I’m very good at this.”

“What?” Scorpia cuddles her closer. “You are _excellent_ at this!”

Mermista rolls her eyes. “Now I need an -ed verb and the name of a male person in the room.”

“Punched!” yells Frosta.

“Arrow Boy,” Catra says. “And yeah, that’s his name. Write it down, Sea-Ra.”

Adora snorts in a highly undignified fashion. “Sea-Ra is _not_ a thing.”

“You already saved the world,” Glimmer says. “Let her have Sea-Ra.”

“Fiiiine.”

Catra kisses Adora’s neck again. She stops huffing.

“Adjective,” Mermista says.

“Majestic!” Swift Wind exclaims.

“Another -ed verb.”

“Chipped?” suggests Sea Hawk.

“Ugh! Too soon!” Mermista scowls at him. “I need a singular noun and a plural noun, and then we’re done.”

“Marshmallow!” Frosta shouts the same time as Swift Wind says, “Clones.”

Mermista looks down at the paper in her hands. She starts to chuckle, but it soon becomes an all-out belly laugh. Water quite literally streams down her face.

“I can’t do it,” she gasps. “Sea Hawk! Read this.”

Sea Hawk takes the paper, clears his throat, and strikes a pose. “Mer-Mysteries: The Case of the Shantying Scorpion. Hard-boiled mermaid detective Catra investigates several adorable pufferfish murders in Reeftown. When she realizes the fish have been drained of their amniotic fluid, she suspects the Mystacor drug ring of involvement. However, she is punched when Arrow Boy, the ring’s kingpin, appeals to her for help. The pufferfish were under his protection, and their majestic murders have chipped both his business and his reputation. Will Catra be able to solve the marshmallow? Or will she find herself belly-up beneath the clones?”

Everyone looks at Catra. Bow covers his mouth with one hand, eyes glittering. Frosta hides her face in Melog’s fur. Glimmer is biting her lower lip so hard that Catra worries there will be blood. Then Scorpia guffaws at the precise moment Adora snort-laughs, and before long, the howls and shrieks of their hilarity can probably be heard all the way back in Bright Moon. Bow and Glimmer cling to each other, wiping tears from their eyes. Swift Wind rolls on his back in the sand, legs flailing.

“Belly-up beneath the clones?” he wheezes.

Catra crosses her arms. “Go ahead. Get it all out of your systems.”

“I want to _be_ a shantying scorpion!” Scorpia chortles.

“But you _are,_ Lynda D’Ream!” Perfuma’s eyes are starry.

“Can you imagine Catra as a mermaid?” Adora says breathlessly. She hiccups, then doubles over with renewed laughter, clutching at her stomach.

“Can you imagine Bow as as criminal?” Glimmer says.

“I could be a criminal!” Bow insists.

“Are not all rebels technically criminals?” asks wrong-Hordak.

“Wait, are we still rebels?” asks Frosta.

“We are _-hic-_ not!” Adora raises a finger in the air, and for a moment, Catra worries she’s about to turn into She-Ra again. Would that cure her hiccups? “We are now _-hic-_ in charge.”

“The planet is definitely doomed,” Catra says.

Adora flops back against her. “Have you _-hic-_ forgotten that you technically saved the _-hic-_ planet?”

“ _Technically_ it was you, dummy. I just, you know, gave you a reason to live.”

Adora’s next snort turns into a hiccup halfway through. Catra pats her on the back. “Do us all a favor and heal yourself. This is painful to watch.”

Adora’s eyes glow a brilliant blue and the nimbus around her temporarily eclipses the bonfire. “There,” she says, her voice smooth and sure. “Happy now?”

“Let’s do another Mad Lib!” Frosta exclaims.

“I thought you said they were for _old_ people,” Mermista fires back.

They do another Mad Lib. Afterward, Sea Hawk throws more logs on the fire, and Catra tells the story of the Undead Princess, which is actually _not_ lame. All the while, Adora leans against her. Catra alternates between stroking her hair and lightly rubbing her shoulders. There is some deep tension that needs a real massage, and Catra allows herself to imagine Adora, shirtless, lying quiescent as she kneads the knots out of her muscles. The thought makes her feel warm and achey deep inside.

Frosta has fallen asleep against Melog. Adora yawns, then stretches. “Which cabin is Frosta in? I’ll carry her.”

When Adora tries to pick her up, Frosta wakes and shrugs her off. “I’m not a baby!”

“Okay, okay!” Adora holds up her hands. “Just trying to help. Anyway, it’s time for me to sleep, too. Good night, everyone.”

Some instinct tells Catra not to follow her immediately. She stretches her feet toward the fire and imagines Adora getting ready for bed. She promised they would _talk about it later._ Did she mean it? Or is she actually tired? She should be—what happened in the Heart must have been exhausting. Adora is understandably drained from being the conduit of a thousand years of magical accretion. It doesn’t seem possible to bounce back from that kind of experience within a week. She probably just wants to sleep.

Unless she doesn’t.

Catra’s mouth is suddenly dry. She rises on shaky legs. “I’m going to bed, too. ‘Night.”

A chorus of well-wishes for pleasant dreams follows her. Honestly, Adora’s friends are sometimes sweeter than she can stand. She pauses at the door of the cabin and decides to knock. Her heart is hammering against her ribs.

“Come in.”

Catra opens the door to the sight of Adora sitting on the edge of the mattress, one leg tucked under the other. Her notebook is in her hands.

“Why did you bring that thing?” Catra blurts. “Your speech is over. You nailed it.”

Adora doesn’t answer right away. As Catra watches, she swallows hard. The door snicks shut.


	9. Tonight and the Rest of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora doesn’t stop touching her. She never wants to stop. She wants whatever just happened to happen over and over, so Catra will always need her. So Catra will never leave her again.
> 
> \--
> 
> Rated "E."

Adora’s stomach feels like it’s been invaded by a herd of stampeding dinosaurs. She turns her head to look at Catra. “I need to tell you something that might make you upset.”

Wariness rises in Catra’s face, and Adora’s heart breaks just a little. But of course Catra’s shields would go up at the least provocation. That comes from the same part of her that sometimes wants to let go—the part of her that is always expecting something terrible to happen. A sudden determination fills Adora, lending her courage.

“I talked to Netossa. While you were with Spinny.”

Catra’s guarded expression gives way to confusion. “About what?”

Adora wants to close her eyes, but it bothers Catra when she does that. Instead, she takes a deep breath. “I told Netossa about… about how I keep getting this feeling that I want you to touch me everywhere and also I want to touch you everywhere but I don’t want to mess anything up. And. Well, that’s it, actually.”

Catra’s jaw has dropped. She blinks rapidly. “You want me to touch you… everywhere?”

This is not the reaction Adora was expecting. She nods.

“And you want to touch me?”

When Adora hears the note of awe in those words, she finally understands what is happening. Catra isn’t mad—at least, not right now. She can’t believe it. All her life, she has been told she is worthless, and now she can’t believe Adora wants to touch her and be touched in return.

“Yes,” she says emphatically, though the word comes out somewhat breathless. “But I don’t know what that _means,_ and you said didn’t want me to talk to anyone about… what’s happening. I shouldn’t have gone to Netossa without speaking to you first.”

Catra crosses the room and sits on the opposite corner of the bed. Adora has seen quite a lot of angry Catra over the years, but the energy currently pouring off Catra has a different quality to it.

“What did you talk about?” Catra’s voice is tight and clipped.

Adora reaches for her notebook, which has fallen shut since Catra’s entrance.

“Wait. You took notes?” Catra’s scoff becomes a laugh. “Of course you took notes.”

Catra laughing at her is familiar enough to guide Adora back onto solid ground. “Of course I did! Yes! Because taking notes is responsible.” She glares when Catra only laughs harder. “Do you want me to share them or not?”

Catra stops laughing. “Yeah, okay. What did she say?”

Adora opens the notebook. “She showed me that there are two parts to a romantic relationship—emotional intimacy and physical intimacy.”

“There are?”

At this confirmation that they really _do_ need Netossa’s advice, Adora is tempted to rub it in. Instead, she takes the high road. “Yes. So emotional intimacy is about how I love you and want you to be happy. And physical intimacy is about, ah, attraction.”

“A-dor-a.” The note of playfulness in Catra’s voice is a relief. “Are you attracted to me?”

Adora hates how easily she blushes. She can feel it happening now—the heat and color rising in her face. “You know I am!”

“I still like hearing you say it.”

This seems like a good segue, and Adora latches onto it like a lifeline. “Right. Because communication is important. Communication, trust, and practice—that’s what Netossa said.”

“Practice?”

Adora looks down at the page and frowns. “I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself. So, ah, about physical intimacy. Netossa said that generally, females like being touched on their breasts and also, um, between their legs.” Communication might be important, but for some reason it’s hard to say these things out loud. Maybe that’s because she’s never heard anyone talk about it before? She clears her throat. “And she said there are sensitive places both outside and inside. I don’t really get that part. But she said the best way to learn specifics is to explore your own body and figure out what feels good. I haven’t tried that yet, though.”

She dares to look up at Catra, then. Catra’s eyes are wide and slightly glazed over. “You haven’t?”

“No-o. Have you?”

“Ah. Yes.” Catra rarely blushes, but red spreads across the bridge of her nose in the wake of this admission.

Adora feels as though she has been hit hard on the head. Catra has taken Netossa’s advice without even knowing it?

“You have? But how—how did you know?”

Catra doesn’t meet her eyes. Instead, she picks at an unraveling thread on the coverlet. Adora bites back her other questions. Obviously, this isn’t something easy for Catra to talk about.

“I didn’t _know_ anything,” Catra finally says. Her gaze meets Adora’s, then slides away. “Do you really want the truth?”

This question rings in Adora’s ears. It feels incredibly important: as though how she understands and answers it will determine the rest of the course of her life. “I do,” she says quietly, placing one hand over Catra’s. “Always.”

Catra looks back at her, then nods. “It was after you left. During the days, it was easy to be angry at you. To channel it into plotting against you and your friends. But at night… the nights were the worst. I couldn’t be angry at you then.”

Adora’s vision is blurring, and she furiously blinks back the tears. She isn’t going to apologize for leaving, but it still hurts to hear Catra’s pain. And she has memories of her own sleepless nights: lying awake in Bright Moon, guilt and loss twisting in her chest, wondering whether there was something else she could have done to convince Catra to join the Rebellion.

“I couldn’t sleep without your stupid snoring.” One corner of Catra’s mouth lifts slightly. “I even missed getting kicked when you would sleep-fight.” Her lips compress again. “Which is really pathetic now that I say it out loud.”

Now Adora is angry—not at Catra, but _for_ her. For them both. She hates how Shadow Weaver made Catra feel about herself, and how the Horde expected them to excise every emotion in the service of the war. She hates that there was a time in Catra’s life when she missed getting kicked.

“It felt like—like there was a hole in my chest. It hurt like a real wound. I, ah, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Only when Catra’s voice quavers does Adora realize how nervous she is. “Sometimes, while I was lying there, I’d feel a different kind of ache, too. Between my legs. One night, I… tried it. Touching myself. There.”

An image flashes in Adora’s mind: Catra beneath the sheet, sliding one hand down the center of her body, then dipping beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts. Her mouth is suddenly dry. When she refocuses, she realizes that Catra is looking at her almost fearfully, as though waiting for some kind of judgement. Adora squeezes her hand.

“Thank you for telling me. Nights were the worst for me, too.”

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment, but Adora is relieved to see the apprehension draining from Catra’s face. She moves closer to Catra, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed. Catra mirrors her position.

“What did it feel like?” Adora asks. The words come out a whisper. Catra frowns. While she is thinking, Adora intertwines their fingers.

“It was… good. And it felt better and better the more I did it.” Catra clears her throat. “Then there was sort of a, um… an explosion.” She meets Adora’s eyes but immediately looks away. “That felt really good.”

“An _explosion_?” A spike of anxiety sends Adora’s heart into a gallop. “Netossa didn’t say anything about an explosion!”

“It wasn’t a _bad_ explosion.” Catra brushes a thumb across her knuckles. “It was an explosion of… well, pleasure. I guess.” She grimaces. “I’m describing it badly, I think. Sorry.”

“No, no.” Adora raises one of Catra’s hands to her mouth, then kisses the inside of her wrist. The skin there is so soft. “ _I’m_ sorry. I just don’t know anything about any of this, and… well, I really appreciate that you told me.”

Catra shrugs. “It was easier to fall asleep, afterward. That’s mostly why I did it.”

Adora mentally files away this detail. Netossa never mentioned anything about the soporific qualities of physical intimacy. Honestly, there seems to be quite a lot she didn’t mention; the whole _explosion_ thing is still rather worrisome, despite Catra’s reassurances. On the other hand, as much as Adora wishes she had never caused Catra pain ever, it’s more than a little gratifying to realize how much she was on Catra’s mind after she left the Horde.

“Were you always thinking about me? While you… did that?”

Catra’s head snaps up. She is blushing again. “I mean, I guess. Don’t get a big head about it, though.”

Adora is debating whether to be smug about this revelation when a sudden thought strikes her mind like an arrow. “Can I… see?”

Catra’s eyes go wider than she has ever seen them. “What?”

Adora can feel that her face is on fire, but now that the idea is in her head, she can’t shake it. “Will you show me? How you, um, touch yourself?” When Catra continues to stare at her, she backtracks. “Only if you want to. Ah. I think I’ve made you uncomfortable and I’m sor—”

“Okay.” Catra breathes out the word.

“Really?” A rush of tenderness laced with protectiveness prompts her to grip Catra’s hands tightly. “Please don’t do anything that makes you feel bad.”

Catra lets go of her hands and settles back against the pillows. “I won’t.”

Adora watches, breathless, as Catra starts to slide one hand beneath her leggings, then belatedly realizes she will learn nothing this way. “Wait.”

Catra’s hand stills.

“I can’t see.”

Catra’s eyes grow darker, but there is a hint of vulnerability in her expression that lends Adora some much-needed confidence. “Are you asking me to be naked?”

Adora blinks. She hadn’t thought about it in precisely those terms. Catra, naked. A thrill runs through her, sizzling like magic. “Well… yes? Is that okay?”

After several heartbeats, Catra nods jerkily. “Yeah. But only if you are, too.”

Adora considers this. They have been in the same room without clothing before—the Horde had communal showers—but that was before they ever kissed. Before she knew the weight of Catra’s breasts in her palms. Being naked together now won’t be a coincidence or a necessity. It will mean taking down all the physical barriers that separate her skin from Catra’s because that’s what they both want. Is it what they both want? She has to be sure.

“You want me to be naked?”

Catra laughs, but there’s a hitch in it. “You are _such_ an idiot.”

By now, Adora knows this means she has asked a question with an obvious answer. The realization is heady. “So what you’re saying is that you’re attracted to me, too?”

Catra opens her mouth, no doubt to disparage Adora’s intelligence a second time. Before she can speak, Adora grips the hem of her own shirt, then pulls it over her head. Beneath, she is wearing a tight band over her breasts. Catra’s mouth is still open, but no sounds emerge. Adora hesitates for a moment, then holds Catra’s gaze as she removes the fabric.

“Your turn?” Somehow, the words come out steady. To keep from covering herself, Adora latches onto the coverlet with both hands, squeezing tightly in an effort to redirect her nerves.

Catra looks down, then up again. She licks her lips. “ _Adora._ ” She has never said her name that way before. Awestruck. Wanting.

_Wanting._

Adora is on the cusp of begging Catra to take her shirt off when Catra does it, quickly and decisively. She wears nothing beneath. Her breasts are smaller than Adora’s, but her nipples are larger and darker. Adora is blindsided by the urge to take one between her lips and taste its texture. Her pulse stutters, then races.

Catra suddenly frowns and extends a hand, though she stops before touching Adora’s skin. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“What?” Adora glances down. The tattoo of the Failsafe— _Heart_ in the language of the First Ones—pulses against her sternum. “Oh. Huh. That hasn’t happened since...”

Catra sits up. “Do you feel sick?”

“Sick?” Adora feels a little dazed, but definitely not sick. She knows she should be looking at Catra’s face, but she can’t seem to stop looking at her breasts. She wants to kiss them. All over. “Uh. No.”

“Why is it doing that, then? Hey. Adora?” The snap of Catra’s fingers in front of her face make her blink.

Only then does Adora realize just how distracted she has become. “Sorry! I am so sorry.”

Catra shoots her an amused glance. “You think I’m upset about you staring at me?” Her expression sobers. “I’m just worried. Is that supposed to happen? The glowing?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Adora touches two fingers to her luminescent skin. “I don’t feel any different. I think it’s fine?”

Catra’s jaw tightens. “Seriously, why is everything with you so weird? Promise you’ll tell me if you start feeling sick?”

“I promise.” Adora is struggling to keep her focus on Catra’s eyes. She wants to look at Catra’s breasts again. She wants to touch them, taste them. “I… can I…”

Catra grasps her right hand, then shifts forward to slide her legs around Adora’s waist. Their torsos are inches apart. Slowly, Catra eliminates the space between Adora’s palm and her skin. Adora curves her fingers around the contours of Catra’s breast, feeling the nipple nestle into her palm. She inhales sharply.

“Catra.” When Adora squeezes gently, Catra’s head tips back, exposing her neck. Adora leans forward to kiss her pulse point. “You feel so good.”

The light bruise she gave Catra days ago has since faded, and Adora is tempted to suck another into her skin. She is distracted by the sensation of Catra’s nipple hardening, pushing into her hand. She pulls back to look and immediately wants to taste.

“Can I kiss you? Here?” Gently, she runs her thumb across the peak of Catra’s breast.

Catra’s eyes slam shut, a quiet vulnerable sound emerging from between her teeth. Adora is almost certain it’s a good sound, but she doesn’t want to presume. She holds very still. Catra’s eyes open just a fraction, their expression pleading.

Adora leans down and brushes her mouth across Catra’s nipple once, twice. Then, she takes it between her lips and gently sucks. In an instant, Catra’s hand is in her hair—holding her in place, not pushing her away. She likes this. The realization gives Adora the courage to lick, light as a whisper.

“Adora,” Catra groans.

Without removing her mouth, Adora looks up at Catra. The tendons in her neck are taut, and her eyes are squeezed shut, and she is biting her lower lip. She is breathtaking. Adora wants to make her feel like this forever. But no. No. She asked Catra to demonstrate how she touches herself. She won’t let herself to become distracted. With a final kiss, she pulls back.

Catra’s eyes flutter open. They are glassy, her pupils dilated. “Why—”

“Show me,” Adora whispers. “Please?”

Catra blinks, then shudders. “All right. But I need to lie down.”

Only then does Adora realize she has wrapped one arm around Catra’s back. She releases her immediately. Catra sinks into the pillows, then jams both thumbs into the waist of her leggings. When she pulls, Adora inhales sharply. Catra is wearing nothing beneath. A thin coat of fine fur covers the area between her legs. Adora is suddenly consumed by the desire to know whether it is as soft as it looks. She reaches out. When she makes contact, Catra gasps, and Adora pulls her hand away as though burned.

“I’m sorry!”

“Stop saying that!” Catra snaps, breathing hard.

Adora feels momentarily adrift. “But I _should_ apologize. Netossa says it’s really important that we never touch each other in ways the other doesn’t want.”

“Can we please not bring Netossa into this right now?” Catra grimaces. “I liked it, okay? I was just surprised.”

“Still. I should always ask.”

Catra exhales slowly. “Listen, dummy. You can touch me any way you want, all right? You have standing permission. And if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. How’s that?”

Adora thinks this through. If, by default, she can touch Catra any way she wants, then does that mean Catra feels almost certain she’s going to like it? _Wow._ And come to think of it, doesn’t that same logic apply to herself? When Adora thinks about Catra touching her, she just _wants_ —no doubts, no hesitation.

“Yes. Good. That works. And also… same for me.”

Catra’s pupils expand, spreading like ink blots. “Really?”

Adora nods solemnly. “I love you.”

Catra rolls her eyes, but her smile is genuine. “Yeah. Love you too. So I’m going to do this now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Adora bites the inside of her cheek as Catra strokes one hand down her stomach, then lower. She spreads her legs, opening herself to Adora’s view. The fur gives way to dusky folds, like the petals of a purple flower. Catra parts them with her fingers to reveal inner lips a startling shade of pink. Mesmerized, Adora leans close.

“You’re so _beautiful._ ”

“Ha. You t-think?” The words are one-hundred percent insouciant Catra, but the stutter gives her away.

“I know,” Adora says quietly.

Catra holds herself open with one hand, then reaches down to stroke herself with the other. Her hips twitch, and she sighs. Adora recognizes that sound—it’s similar to how Catra reacted whenever Adora would give her a shoulder rub in the Horde barracks.

Two of Catra’s fingers make circling movements. Adora shifts her gaze from Catra’s hand to her eyes. They are wide and vulnerable and entreating in a way that tugs at the most essential part of Adora. _Standing permission._ Gently, she closes her hand over Catra’s, then pushes it aside. Catra makes a sound of dismay that is choked off when Adora touches her.

Soft. So incredibly soft. And yet, in the midst of that softness, a firm knot. Adora tests out its shape with her fingertips, pressing and spiraling and stroking. Catra’s head tosses against the pillow as small, needy sounds well up from her throat. Here, defenseless in this room surrounded by clouds, she has abdicated her bluster and bravado.

“Adora,” she pants. “Please. Hold me? While you...” Her words trail off into a low moan.

Adora’s heart is so full she thinks it might shatter. In an instant, she has stretched out alongside Catra, sliding an arm beneath her nape. Catra buries her face in Adora’s neck, panting. All the while, Adora never stops moving her fingers. When she dares to press more firmly, Catra’s teeth clamp down just above her collarbone. There is a brief spike of pain that immediately becomes something else, something _wonderful,_ the sensation flowing through her like warm honey.

Catra’s hips writhe. Adora shifts so one leg is splayed across Catra’s thighs, holding her down. Catra groans into her skin, and it’s the most perfect sound Adora has ever heard.

“I love you,” Adora whispers, and the prominence beneath her fingers pulses once. She pushes down just a fraction harder. “I love you, Catra.”

Catra’s answering cry is muffled by Adora’s skin. Then her hips are surging, and her hand closes spasmodically on Adora’s shoulder, and Adora watches in awe as Catra shudders repeatedly in her embrace. Every betrayal, every moment of misunderstanding and pain and hurt and grief—they have all somehow led to this beautiful, precious, powerful moment.

Adora doesn’t stop touching her. She never wants to stop. She wants whatever just happened to happen over and over, so Catra will always need her. So Catra will never leave her again.

Catra’s hand clamps down around her forearm. “N-no more,” she rasps. “Too sensitive.”

Immediately, Adora pulls her hand away. “Sorry.”

Catra’s laughter is breathless. “Only you. Only you would apologize after _that._ ”

Exhilaration sings through Adora as her smile takes shape. She made Catra feel good. She did. Catra, who hated herself for so long. Who believed herself capable only of destruction, deserving only of pain.

“Thank you,” Adora breathes, folding her body around Catra’s. “Thank you for letting me touch you.”

Catra’s shoulders shake. “You are such—”

Adora kisses the soft skin behind Catra’s ear. “Yeah. I know.”


	10. All Is Full of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora, surrendering. It was all Catra thought she wanted for so long. Now, on the other side of so much pain, she can have both Adora’s surrender and her love. 
> 
> \--
> 
> In which Catra shows Adora just how much she loves her. Rated "E."

Catra closes her eyes and drifts, luxuriating in Adora’s embrace. For once, she isn’t ashamed of the purr that bubbles up from her chest. The instinct has always felt like a weakness, but not anymore. At the sound, Adora nuzzles her neck, and Catra melts just a little bit more. It should be impossible; her bones feel like jelly. With every breath, Adora’s scent fills her lungs. 

Catra wants to stay right here forever. No ambition she has ever harbored could remotely approach the sensation of being held by Adora after coming apart in her arms. Adora’s breasts are soft against her back, one palm resting lightly against her chest. Can she feel her heartbeat? It has slowed considerably since Adora turned her world upside-down just a few minutes ago. Remembering the searing ecstasy, Catra shivers.

“Are you cold?” Without waiting for an answer, Adora curls her body more tightly around Catra’s, sliding one leg between hers. 

Only then does Catra realize Adora still has her pants on. “You’re not naked,” she mumbles.

“Sorry. I got distracted.”

Tiny sparks flower beneath Catra’s skin. Given Adora’s notorious naivété, the effortlessness with which she took over touching Catra is surprising. Then again, Adora has always been generous with and eager to care for her. Why would this context be any different? 

“I’m not complaining.”

Adora snorts against her neck. “You’re not?” 

Catra frowns. “Wait. Yeah, I am.” She turns in the circle of Adora’s arms. Their noses are almost touching, and Catra wraps one arm around Adora’s waist, her tail brushing Adora’s leg. “But I’m complaining about your non-nakedness, not about, uh, the other thing.”

Adora’s smile is tinged with self-consciousness. “You really liked it? How I touched you?” 

Catra’s first impulse is to hide behind teasing and sarcasm. She tamps it down. “I’ve never felt anything like that,” she confesses.

“But you said it was good when you touched yourself.”

“Good, yeah. Not… mind-blowing.”

“Mind-blowing?” The corners of Adora’s mouth twitch.

“See, this is why I can’t get soft,” Catra grouses, shoving half-heartedly at Adora’s shoulder. “When I do, you become insufferable.”

Adora’s response is to lean in for a lingering kiss that warms Catra from the inside out. When it’s over, they remain inches apart, Adora’s breaths puffing against Catra’s face rhythmically. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth is slightly curved, and her beauty pierces Catra like a weapon. Need rushes in to fill the wound—the need to bring Adora to the same shattering pleasure. 

“I want to touch you,” Catra whispers.

Adora’s eyes flash open. A flush is rising to her skin, surfacing in a blaze of color like a sunset smearing across the horizon. Her breaths come faster, then faster still. “R-right now?” 

The question is saturated in uncertainty. On an intellectual level, Catra understands that this is something Adora will have to work on herself—and wouldn’t Perfuma be proud of that insight? But on a visceral level, Catra feels the overwhelming urge to prove to Adora, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was _born_ to touch her.

“Right now.”

“But… Netossa said I should explore myself first.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Catra immediately regrets this outburst. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind Adora’s ear with the gentlest possible touch to make up for it. “Do there really need to be hard and fast rules?” 

Adora’s brow crinkles. “I guess not?” 

Of course, Adora would gravitate toward having a playbook. A memory surfaces in Catra’s mind. “Spinnerella says there’s no right way to have a relationship. There’s only the way we decide on together.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah. During our conversation the other day.”

“So we can do what we want? As long as we both agree.”

“Yes, dum— Ah. I mean. Yes.” Honestly, the fact that Adora still has to be convinced that she can do what she wants is more than a little disturbing. She has always been good at adhering to other people’s plans for her, and she has always been terrible at expressing her own desires. Catra silently vows this is something they will work on. Together. Starting now.

“And you want to touch me,” Adora says, wonder lacing her voice.

Catra doesn’t even want to take shelter behind sarcasm now. “I really do, Adora. But what do _you_ want?”

Seconds pass. Adora looks away, clears her throat. “I… I like how you say my name.”

Catra decides to let her dodge the question this time. “Well, it’s very sayable. Rolls right off my tongue.” She proceeds to demonstrate this by pronouncing Adora’s name repeatedly, each time with lengthier and more pronounced trilling “r’s.”

“Stop making fun of me!” Adora cups one hand over Catra’s mouth, then squawks and pulls back when Catra licks her palm.

“Never.” Catra leans forward to seal their lips. 

The movement brings her breasts close enough to brush against Adora’s. The softness and warmth of this contact is exquisite, and she groans into the kiss. When Adora pulls her even closer, Catra uses this momentum to urge her onto her back. Snugging her pelvis between Adora’s hips, she pushes herself up. The sight of Adora beneath her, eyes glazed and lips wet, inspires a ferocity in Catra that would be frightening if it weren’t matched by a rush of protectiveness. She wants to lay claim to every inch of Adora, and she never, ever wants to hurt her again.

Finally, she allows herself to really _look_ at Adora’s breasts. They are pale and perfect, tipped by rose-colored nipples. Catra’s mouth waters. She wants to map them with her tongue. She wants to cradle their weight in her palms. Slowly, she lowers her torso until the peaks of her own breasts touch Adora’s. Adora gasps, then shudders.

Catra looks up to behold Adora’s awestruck expression. In the next instant, she is kissing Adora deeply but gently, blunting the sharp edge of her desire through sheer force of will. Her fingers tangle in Adora’s hair, but she is careful to keep her claws sheathed. Catra’s breasts are pressed firmly to Adora’s now, and even the most minute shift of their bodies sends a ripple of heat through her. When Adora whimpers against Catra’s lips, Catra instinctively slides one leg between Adora’s. The sensation of Adora arching against her renders Catra momentarily breathless. 

Between their bodies, the word _Heart_ throbs in time with Adora’s.

Catra knows she has standing permission. Adora said so. She wants more. “Do you still want me to touch you everywhere?” she whispers.

Adora shivers, then nods. Catra still wants to hear her say _Yes,_ but at least they’re making progress. She kneels between Adora’s legs, then frames Adora’s ribcage between her hands. Slowly, she drags her fingers down, down toward the waist of Adora’s pants. When Adora arches her hips, Catra swiftly obliges, yanking the fabric, and the underwear beneath it, to her ankles. After a few more seconds of awkward wrangling, Adora is nude beneath her. A triangle of golden hair covers the space between her legs. When Catra skims her fingertips across the base of her abdomen, Adora gasps her name.

It is so tempting to slide lower, to make her touch firmer, to find Adora’s most sensitive places and stroke her into ecstasy. Catra knows she can do it. In this moment, with Adora naked and wanting beneath her, she knows that this— _this_ —is her destiny. Forget saving the world.

Even so, she doesn’t want to rush. _Everywhere_ is a request she plans to take seriously. Slowly, she leans down to slide her breasts across Adora’s stomach, her ribcage, and their nipples brush again as Catra finally captures Adora’s mouth with her own. This kiss is deep and wet and messy. It is everything Catra has always wanted but knows she has never deserved. When she finally pulls back to breathe, Adora’s chest is heaving and her eyes are dark pools with only the slimmest ring of blue around the edges.

Catra eases onto her side, then leans forward to close her lips around the peak of Adora’s nearest breast while cupping the other in her hand. Adora’s nipple is a firm knot between her lips, and Catra licks at it with soft, arhythmic swipes of her tongue. A low, whining sound escapes Adora’s mouth, and her hand scrabbles for purchase against Catra’s back. Dizzy with desire, Catra maintains the lightness of her touch with an effort. She desperately wants Adora to feel only pleasure—no confusion, no uncertainty, no fear.

With one fingertip, Catra traces the _Heart_ tattoo. She remembers the first time it appeared on Adora’s body, pulsing through She-Ra’s aura. She remembers turning away in fear and grief from She-Ra: fear that Adora would have to die to free the magic, grief that Adora was so quick to choose death over a life with Catra. That was an oversimplification, of course. In trying to save everyone, Adora was also trying to save her. Catra knows this, intellectually. Still, it was terrifying how easily Adora accepted the narrative that she might have to die to save the world.

Now, the tattoo means something different. She remembers the way it flickered as Adora lay limp in her arms, green forks of lightning piercing its lines and curves. She remembers burying her face against it. _Stay_. She remembers kissing Adora and feelingthe tide of magic rush through her as the Heart of Etheria’s power coalesced within Adora’s body.

Her body. Slowly, Catra slides her palm down the center of Adora’s torso, reaching out to trace the slopes of her abdominal muscles with her fingertips. Adora squirms beneath her.

“Tickles,” she protests breathlessly.

Catra falls in love all over again with breathless, ticklish Adora. She stills her touch but gently sucks Adora’s nipple into her mouth, then swirls her tongue around it. Beneath her hand, Adora’s hips undulate. 

“ _Catra._ ”

Catra doesn’t know if her heart is big enough to hold everything she feels when Adora says her name in that tone. She raises her head to the sight of Adora, eyes closed, flushed and quietly gasping. Catra kisses her jaw. 

“What do you want, Adora?” She waits for several moments, but Adora says nothing. Catra isn’t going to let Adora get out of the question this time. She moves her hand lower, barely brushing the patch of hair. “Tell me.” She sees the effort it takes for Adora to open her eyes. They implore her silently, but she wants to hear the words. “What you want matters, Adora. It matters to me.”

Adora’s gaze sharpens at the echo of her own words on Prime’s ship. _You matter to me._ Her swallow is visible. She licks her lips. “I want you to touch me,” she finally says, the words barely above a whisper.

“I love touching you,” Catra says. This has always been true, but she has never dared to say it before. “And I’ve _been_ touching you.”

“Yes, but.” Adora shifts against the mattress, as if by moving her hips, she can coax Catra’s hand to do her bidding. 

“But?” When Catra’s fingers slip an inch lower, Adora lets out a small gasp, eyelids fluttering. “Adora. Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Adora grips Catra’s wrist, then pauses. For the space of several heartbeats, they stare at each other—Adora’s gaze uncertain and pleading, while Catra is doing her best to appear comforting and supportive instead of completely desperate to touch her. Finally, Adora pushes her hand down.

Catra’s mouth falls open as the delicate skin between Adora’s legs parts beneath her touch. At the contact, Adora makes a small, whimpering sound and her hand falls away to grip the blanket. Slowly, gently, Catra explores her. There is softness, and heat, and then a small, firm ridge that pulses when Catra’s fingers slide across it. She does it again, and again—back and forth, then in small, delicate circles.

“Yes,” Adora hisses. “Please.”

This triumph is sweeter than any battlefield victory. Adora is begging for her touch. _Adora_. Catra is suddenly paralyzed by the magnitude of this moment. 

“Don’t stop,” Adora gasps.

Catra’s eyes widen. Adora has finally answered her question. She wants Catra not to stop.

“I won’t,” she whispers. But instead of resuming her circling touches, Catra dips lower, wondering if what she finds will be true to her own experience. Sure enough, wetness has gathered there. This only happens to Catra when she is touching herself in a way that feels good, and the tactile confirmation that Adora is enjoying her ministrations makes Catra light-headed. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs.

Adora’s head moves restlessly against the pillow. “No. You.”

At this particular moment, Catra absolutely refuses to get into the “I know you are but what am I” kind of argument that characterized their childhood years. Instead, she returns slick fingers to the focal point of Adora’s body. Adora cries out, then clamps her teeth together. Despite this attempt to control herself, small whimpering noises continue to emerge between her lips. Catra can’t quite believe that she is the one pulling those sounds from Adora. Fleetingly, she wishes that theirs was the only cabin on this beach, so she could encourage Adora to be as vocal as she wants.

“It’s okay.” Catra kisses the curve of Adora’s breast, all the while brushing her fingers lightly over that sensitive ridge. Adora is trembling against her, and when Catra increases the pressure, she clutches at Catra’s hip. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and her hair fans across the pillow. Catra’s cheeks are tingling and she feels a little dizzy—Adora has quite literally taken her breath away. Catra kisses her nipple again, then flicks it with her tongue. Adora’s blunt fingernails dig into her skin and she gives voice to a low groan.

“Let it happen, Adora. It’s going to feel good. I promise.”

Adora’s eyes snap open, her pupils dark and glassy. “Catra. Catra, I need you.” 

_I need you._ Catra’s emotions are a storm threatening to sweep her away. She feels certain she won’t survive the beauty of Adora, the open honesty of her love. Of her need. “I’m here. I promise. I’ve got you.”

Adora’s body begins to glow. A golden nimbus encloses them both as Adora’s body arches, the tendons in her neck standing out against the blush that has spread to the tops of her breasts. The magic floods into Catra, bringing with it an echo of Adora’s ecstasy. Awe fills her at the sensation: she, Catra, has suffused Adora with pleasure.

In the next instant, Adora collapses back against the mattress, shuddering. The heated skin beneath Catra’s fingertips quivers, and she gentles her touch. When Adora pushes her face into Catra’s neck to muffle her cries, Catra wraps her tail around Adora’s waist. Adora’s hips jerk one last time before she melts into Catra’s embrace, gasping open-mouthed against her collarbone. Catra turns her head so her cheek brushes Adora’s temple. 

Looking down at Adora, flushed and panting and perfect, Catra experiences the most profound sensation of gratitude. Tears prick her eyes. She has never felt both so powerful and so tender. “Are you all right?” she whispers.

Adora nods against her, then kisses her neck. Catra smiles into her hair, listening to the slowing rhythm of Adora’s heartbeat. Slowly, she removes her hand from between Adora’s legs, intending to wrap her arm around Adora’s back to pull her even closer. Instead, the scent of Adora on her fingers distracts her, and she raises her hand to her nose.

The fragrance is complex: earthy and alive, but there is a hint of the same fiery tang she remembers from their kiss in the Heart. Instinctively, Catra swipes her tongue across her fingertips. The taste of Adora sets every cell in her body thrumming, filling her with a sudden burst of energy. _More._ The thought is an imperative. She bends her head to kiss Adora’s shoulder, then pushes gently, urging her to return to a supine position. Hovering above her, Catra realizes with a jolt that she very much enjoys it when Adora is on her back.

Adora blinks, eyes hazy. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to kiss you everywhere. This is phase two.”

“H-how many phases are there?”

“I have no idea,” Catra says. _But I want to discover them all with you,_ she adds silently. She places a whisper-soft kiss on Adora’s closest breast, then pulls back enough to see her face. “It’s what you want?”

Adora licks her lips. Catra hears her pulse stutter, then accelerate. “Yes.”

Power sings through Catra, sweet and pure. “Good.” The word emerges on a growl. She is somewhat taken aback by this, but Adora only reaches up to twine her arms around Catra’s neck, pulling her down. The kiss starts slow, but when Catra pushes her tongue into Adora’s mouth, Adora exhales a whispery sigh and yields beneath her.

Adora, surrendering. It was all Catra thought she wanted for so long. Now, on the other side of so much pain, she can have both Adora’s surrender and her love. Catra leans into the kiss, then scrapes her teeth across Adora’s bottom lip. When a shudder wracks Adora’s frame, Catra does it again. Finally, Adora pulls away, gasping Catra’s name. Catra takes this opportunity to trail kisses from the corner of her mouth across Adora’s angular jaw, then down the column of her neck. Adora’s hands stroke across her back, fingers clutching whenever Catra brushes a particularly sensitive spot. She takes note of each, filing the information away.

This time, when Catra closes her lips around the peak of Adora's breast, she sucks with more force. Adora’s hips surge beneath her, and she covers her mouth with one forearm, her other hand latching onto one of Catra’s shoulder blades. Galvanized by this reaction, Catra experiments, alternating the pressure of her mouth while gently rubbing Adora’s other nipple with her thumb. The more she does this, the more insistently Adora writhes beneath her. A thought pierces Catra’s mind: Adora, tied up and at her mercy, unable to move while Catra lovingly torments her with tongue and fingers. So potent is this mental image that Catra’s head spins and she momentarily sags against Adora.

“Catra?” Adora’s voice is breathless. “Are you okay?”

Catra raises her head to the sight of Adora, hair tangled face flushed, looking at her with a mixture of desire and concern. On the heels of what her mind has just conjured, this expression fills Catra with a restless, seething _need_ to see Adora come apart again. Propping herself up on shaking arms, Catra kisses the space between her breasts.

“I am so much better than okay.” She starts to trail kisses down the centerline of Adora’s body, then deviates to run her tongue across the crests and troughs of her ribcage. 

“Ohh,” Adora sighs. “G-good.”

Catra tries to take her time, mouthing at the ridges of Adora’s abdominal muscles, licking circles around the delicate dip of her navel. But the more she kisses Adora, the more pronounced that delicious scent of her becomes, calling to Catra like a Siren. When she kisses the skin just above the golden patch of hair, Adora quivers and her eyes fly open.

“T-there? You want to kiss me…?” She swallows hard, leaving the sentence unfinished.

For the first time in her life, Catra _wants_ to beg. “Yes. Adora… please. Trust me.”

Adora’s swallow is visible. “I—I do.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

“I know.” Adora reaches one hand down to touch her face, and the love swimming in her too-bright eyes makes Catra’s heart lurch against her own ribs. “Kiss me. The way you want.”

The sharp edge of Catra’s need dissolves into a determination to make Adora feel so cherished, so loved, so desired. She slides down the bed until her face is even with the apex of Adora’s legs, then rests one hand on each thigh. Slowly, she urges them to part even more. Blonde curls give way to rose-colored folds of skin, tightly furled but glistening with moisture. 

Catra’s mouth floods. She leans down, bracing Adora’s legs with her shoulders, and touches her with gentle fingers. At the first contact, Adora moans—a low, almost tortured sound. Carefully, Catra traces the delicate curves, watching in fascination as the movements of her own fingers reveal another, hidden layer of folds. Crimson and slightly puffy, they look almost like lips. The space they frame holds a shimmering pool of translucent liquid. Irresistibly drawn, Catra dips the tip of her tongue into it.

When Adora shudders violently at the contact, Catra pulls back, concerned. Adora is looking down at her, eyes wide and darker than Catra has ever seen them. They are filled with shock and awe and a desperation that is entirely new.

“Yes?” 

Adora nods urgently. Slowly, Catra leans close again, gaze trained on Adora, and repeats the movement of her tongue. Adora’s eyes slam shut and she groans against her own forearm. This—this may be the sweetest sound Catra has ever heard.

Confident now that she is bringing Adora pleasure with this new kind of kissing, Catra begins to lick. She runs her tongue up, pausing occasionally to suck with gentle pressure at the contours her tongue is tracing. When her nose accidentally brushes against a firm bump, Adora cries out and her legs tremble. Catra pulls back to look, then experimentally runs one finger against the small prominence. Her touch recognizes the sensitive ridge she encountered earlier, and she examines it with fascination before leaning in to brush a soft kiss there. When she runs her tongue along it, a muffled whine fills her ears. She glances up to the sight of Adora, chest heaving and her head thrown back, arm still covering her mouth. Never has she been so beautiful.

When Catra returns her tongue to the pool below, more moisture has gathered. She laps at it eagerly, then licks up again to draw tiny circles against that most sensitive spot. She can feel it growing firmer beneath her lips, and she presses closer to suck at it delicately. As Adora’s taste explodes against her tongue, Adora’s hips buck sharply, nearly dislodging her. Unwilling to be deterred, Catra clamps down on Adora’s thighs with her hands, holding her in place.

The needy sounds emerging from Adora’s mouth goad Catra into fluttering her tongue even as she maintains the pressure. As she does, the swollen knot begins to pulse rhythmically. It is all Catra can do to keep Adora’s hips pinned to the bed. Her eyes are closed, but her skin prickles as the glow of magic surrounds them again. Adora’s euphoria washes over her, and her tail bristles at its intensity. A distant part of her still can’t quite believe she has made Adora feel so good. _Twice_.

Beneath her lips, the firmness begins to ebb. With one final kiss, Catra raises her head, pride and awe mingling in her chest—only to feel as though she has been doused in cold water at the sight of the tears running down Adora’s face. Catra surges up, enfolding Adora in her arms, terror lancing through her.

“Did I hurt you? Adora?” Nausea twists her stomach. She had been so certain Adora was feeling only pleasure. Where had she gone wrong? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Adora pushes against Catra, creating enough space for their gazes to lock. Tears still spill from the corners of her eyes in a steady stream. “You didn’t. It f-felt good. So good. I d-don’t know why I’m c-crying.” With a fresh sob, Adora buries her face under Catra’s chin. 

The panic drains from Catra, though she is still left with a pit of unease in her chest. She runs her fingers across Adora’s shoulders, then caresses her back with long, gentle strokes. Adora isn’t lying. She said she wouldn’t, and besides, thanks to the magic, Catra _felt_ that echo of her blinding pleasure. She can trust it. She can trust Adora.

After a few minutes, Adora’s tears subside and her hitching breaths resolve. Catra never stops touching her, forcing herself to be patient. It’s a strange role-reversal; usually, she is the one who is upset, and Adora has to wait for her to open up. This realization feels important.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Adora finally mumbles.

“S’okay.” Catra loosens her grip just enough to meet Adora’s eyes. They are red and swollen. Tears still cling to her lower eyelashes, and Catra brushes them away with the lightest touch she can manage. “Do you, um, want to talk about it?”

There is a long pause, during which Catra tenderly rubs a thumb across Adora’s tearstained cheeks, smoothing the lingering moisture into her skin. There is still a part of her that can barely believe she is lying in a bed with Adora, and that they are both naked, and that they love each other, and that the world is no longer ending.

“Remember the night of the Heart, when we lay down together?” Adora finally says. “And you started… trembling?”

“Yeah, what of it?” The belligerent words slip out before Catra can bite them back.

Instead of being annoyed, Adora smiles. “I know you think that was a sign of weakness or something, but it’s not. Don’t you remember what you said? About feeling so _much_? Well… I think that’s why I started crying.” She touches one corner of Catra’s mouth. “I have never felt anything so incredible in all my life.”

“Yeah?” That’s when it hits Catra: she has been the first person _ever_ to touch Adora intimately. Even including herself. Catra feels just the tiniest bit smug, but mostly she’s grateful that she didn’t mess this up like she has everything else.

Adora nods. “And I’m not even just talking about how amazing you made me feel—physically, I mean. I mean the emotions, too. The way you were touching me, I… I could tell you love me.”

Catra’s pretty sure her heart is in danger of turning into one of those marshmallows. She has to swallow before she can speak. “I do. Love you, I mean.”

“I know.” Adora leans in for a fleeting kiss that only leaves Catra wanting more. “And I love you. Could you feel that, too? When I was… touching you?”

“Yes.” Catra means to speak the word, but it comes out a whisper. 

Adora beams, radiant and dorky and irresistible. “Good.” Then, she yawns. “Mmph. I see what you mean about getting sleepy.” Suddenly, her gaze sharpens. “You’re not going to move to the floor, are you?” 

Catra hadn’t thought that far ahead. On the one hand, she can’t imagine not holding Adora all night, but on the other? _Drip, drip, drip._

“Please, Catra. Please.” Adora’s gaze is earnest and pleading. “I need you. If the worst happens, I’ll heal myself.”

_I need you._

Catra slides beneath the sheets, then holds the coverlet up to allow Adora to do the same. Truth be told, she can’t abide the thought of sleeping without being in contact with Adora tonight. Not after what they have shared. Does that make her selfish and terrible? Is it possible to be selfish and terrible while also doing what Adora wants?

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, wrapping herself around Adora’s back.

Adora reaches for one of Catra’s hands, then moves it to rest in the space between her own breasts. She covers Catra’s knuckles in a warm, gentle grip. “Promise?” 

How many times have they had this exchange? How many times has it gone wrong? Catra kisses Adora’s back, then draws her knees up to spoon Adora more effectively. This time is different. Now that their love is out in the open, they will both keep their word.

“Yeah. I promise.”


	11. Teardrop on the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the first time in her life, Adora wakes in Catra’s arms. It’s even more perfect than she imagined. Catra’s body is curled against hers, one arm slung across her waist. She hasn’t moved all night, and neither has Adora."
> 
> \---
> 
> In which Adora indulges in some "practice," Catra almost fights Frosta, and Ice Ball temporarily stands in for real conflict. ;) Rated "E."

For the first time in her life, Adora wakes in Catra’s arms. It’s even more perfect than she imagined. Catra’s body is curled against hers, one arm slung across her waist. She hasn’t moved all night, and neither has Adora.

Adora’s breaths hitch at the implications. Catra didn’t have a nightmare. And _she_ didn’t wake, heart pounding in panic, fearing Catra was gone. She smiles into the soft dawn light, relaxing back into Catra’s embrace. Progress. They’re finally making progress. Adora isn’t naive enough to think that the underlying problems have been solved—Catra is still going to struggle with guilt and fear and anger, not to mention the deeper issue of worthlessness ingrained in her by Shadow Weaver. And as for herself: well. Adora hasn’t yet decided whether Mara’s spirit actually spoke to her in the corridors leading to the Heart, or whether that was all a figment of her imagination. Either way, she can now acknowledge that her instinct for self-sacrifice isn’t healthy. Maybe she should start talking to Perfuma too, like Mermista and Scorpia are doing.

Catra shifts slightly, nuzzling into the nape of Adora’s neck. Adora feels more than hears her quiet purr, and it subsides after a few moments. Catra is still asleep. The realization makes Adora fall in love with her all over again. Smiling, she closes her eyes, committing to relaxation. There is no battle to plan or fight. She is allowed to lie here and relish the peace of Catra’s embrace, the warmth of Catra’s skin against her own.

The next time Catra stirs, her fingers flex. The movement sends a bolt of pleasure down Adora’s spine, and she looks down in confusion. Last night, she fell asleep with Catra’s hand over her heart, but it has since shifted to cup one of her breasts.

Her breasts. Catra, lavishing them with attention. When Adora remembers the velvet scratch of Catra’s tongue across her nipples, heat flares low in her abdomen.

Catra, touching her.

Catra, kissing her.

Everywhere.

The memories buffet her—Catra’s tongue slipping confidently into her mouth, the expression on Catra’s face as she divested Adora of her clothing, the look in Catra’s eyes as her lips hovered mere inches above the apex of Adora’s legs. And then, ecstasy—filling her, buoying her up, until it flooded through her hot and bright, like magic. How is it possible that she never knew her body was capable of such sensation?

Catra had known. When Adora experiences a twinge of competitive frustration at the clarity with which Catra perceives the world, she pushes it down with an effort. They are on the same side now. Catra’s sharp-eyed self-awareness is no longer a threat. And even with Catra’s superior knowledge of her own body, Adora had been able to surprise her.

She feels a swell of pride at having been able to bring Catra an intensity of pleasure she’d never felt before. She wants to do that again, more slowly this time. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of Catra shuddering in her arms, Adora also wants to study her—to map her terrain and learn the tactical advantage of each slope and peak and valley. She imagines kissing Catra as Catra kissed her last night—letting her mouth explore the soft, warm skin that felt so perfect against her fingertips. How much more perfect would those beautiful, secret places feel against her tongue?

This thought galvanizes her. Gently, she raises the hand cupping her breast to her lips and kisses Catra’s knuckles. Then, she shifts to face Catra and deposits a second kiss on the tip of her nose. Catra’s eyes flutter open, soft and sleepy. There is no hardness or wariness in them—only love. Adora’s heart turns over in her chest.

“Mm? ‘dora?”

The warm drowsiness in Catra’s voice inspires a pang of regret in Adora—should she have woken her?—but it is quickly eclipsed by the growing need to kiss every inch of Catra. She might have standing permission, but she needs to be sure they are on the same page. Consent, communication, trust. Even if Catra makes fun of her.

“I want to kiss you.”

Catra blinks at her owlishly. “O-okay?”

Belatedly, Adora realizes she should have been more specific. “Here.” Tentatively, she skims her fingers along the patch of fine fur between Catra’s legs. “Like… like you did, last night.” When a low whine emerges from Catra’s throat, Adora savors the sound. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes,” Catra hisses. She seems much more awake now. “Yes. Adora.”

“Oh, good.” Adora grins down at her, relieved. She isn’t taking this new harmony they’ve found together for granted.

Only when Catra laughs breathlessly and calls her a dork does it occur to Adora that maybe she should be trying to act suave and cool. But she can’t act, and she has been suave and cool exactly never in her life. Is this really the time to try? Catra loves her for exactly who she is—dorkiness and all. Thankfully.

Shoving these thoughts to the back of her mind, Adora focuses on her mission. She pushes Catra onto her back with gentle pressure, then eases her legs apart. The tawny plain of Catra’s torso is warm beneath her palms. She splays out her fingers, trying to reach as much skin as possible, before slowly dragging her hands toward Catra’s hips. All the while, she holds Catra’s gaze, watching as her pupils expand. A ring of gold, a ring of blue. So familiar, so beloved.

“I love your eyes,” she murmurs.

Catra blinks. “You’re complimenting my _eyes_ right now?”

“Yes! I am. Because they’re beautiful.” Before Catra can call her an idiot, Adora leans down and dips her tongue into Catra’s navel. Instead of insults, a muffled groan reaches her ears. Adora feels rather smug about that, and she holds on to the feeling, hoping it will lend her courage. She presses a trail of kisses down the center of Catra’s abdomen, gradually shifting position until her head is between Catra’s legs. Last night, she had been mostly focused on watching Catra pleasure herself. Now, Adora takes the time to study her: the glistening whorls of skin, the slight swelling where Catra most enjoys being touched. Catra’s scent rises to greet her, musky and intoxicating. Adora feels her mouth begin to water in anticipation. With an effort, she shifts her gaze up, needing to be certain of Catra’s desire.

Catra is staring back at her, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. Her chest rises and falls quickly. “Please,” she whispers.

 _Please._ This is a word Catra does not say often. Hearing it makes Adora feel powerful in a way that has nothing to do with She-Ra. Catra wants _her._ After so much bad blood, after so much pain, Catra is allowing herself to be vulnerable. Her trust is the most precious gift Adora has ever been given, and she is going to prove it. Right now.

Adora traces her tongue delicately along the edges of Catra’s most sensitive skin, learning the shape of her. When Catra breathes out a shaky sigh, her legs opening further, Adora smiles. She dips lower, tasting the hidden depths between outer and inner folds. Catra tastes even more delicious than she smells, and Adora luxuriates in the wetness smearing her lips as she plys her tongue through the silky maze. A quiet moan is her reward, and it spurs Adora on, compelling her to gently suck at the places she has just explored. Another moan, louder this time.

Adora alternates strokes of her tongue with the pull of her lips until Catra begins to writhe beneath her. Adora’s hands have been resting on Catra’s thighs, but now she grips them firmly, holding her still. When Catra gasps, Adora looks up without ever lifting her mouth away. Catra is staring down at her, eyes hazy and dark and pleading. A welcome rush of confidence fills Adora, and she slowly works her tongue up, up toward the place she touched last night. When her tongue brushes the swollen knot, Catra jerks beneath her, so forcefully that Adora’s hands are nearly dislodged. Tightening her grip, Adora flicks lightly at the small bump, feeling it grow even firmer. Carefully, she closes her lips around it.

When she sucks as gently as possible, Catra makes a desperate, keening sound that is suddenly muffled. Adora glances up to the sight of Catra, back arched, covering her mouth with one hand while the other clutches at the sheets. She has never been more beautiful, and the need to make her lose all control fills Adora with a new kind of urgency. She restores the suction, then flutters her tongue against the tantalizing spot. When it throbs in response, she repeats the movements, over and over, incrementally increasing the pressure each time.

And then the knot of nerves is pulsing beneath her tongue, and Catra’s hips are thrusting wildly, and Adora instinctively summons She-Ra’s strength to hold her still as the storm rips through her. Catra’s muffled cries are ecstatic, and her wet heat is coating Adora’s chin, and she never, ever wants to stop kissing Catra this way. Still, she remembers what happened last night—that after the pleasure took her, Catra became sensitive—and so Adora gradually eases the pressure of her mouth and softens the strokes of her tongue. Only when she can no longer feel the pulse beneath her lips does she pull back.

Catra’s eyes open, and it takes a moment for them to focus. Her expression is reminiscent of how she looked in the Heart, after Adora said _I love you, too_ : awe and love and vulnerability, braided together. Filled with tenderness, Adora surges up to hold her, cradling Catra’s head in the curve of her neck, pulling her sweat-slicked body close until there is no room for even a single atom between them.

“That was… _you_ are… incredible. _Beyond_ incredible.” Adora doesn’t have the words for what she is trying to say.

“Think that’s my line,” Catra rasps.

Adora snorts into her hair. “Nope. I got there first.”

Catra mumbles something into her skin that Adora can’t make out. Reluctantly, she eases her hold just enough for them to look at each other. “What was that?”

“I said, ‘Your dorkiness knows no bounds.’ Which it doesn’t.” The effect of these words is slightly spoiled by the still-breathless quality of Catra’s voice.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Adora muses smugly.

Catra rolls her eyes. “I see you’re proud of yourself.”

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t be?” Adora mentally gives herself a high-five. Has she ever managed _two_ comebacks in a row?

To her surprise, Catra doesn’t answer in kind. Instead, she leans in to kiss Adora, tongue gliding smoothly into her mouth. When Adora realizes Catra is tasting _herself,_ she feels a little dizzy. The kiss lasts forever and not long enough, and when it finally ends, Adora realizes she has melted into the mattress. Catra is now lying on top of her, looking quite self-satisfied.

“You were saying?” Catra asks innocently.

“I...”

Before Adora can even try to pull her thoughts together Catra is kissing her again. And again. Gradually, the kisses become slower, lazier. They fall back into sleep as if by mutual agreement, Catra’s leg draped across Adora’s thighs, one arm splayed across Adora’s ribs.

*

Adora wakes to the sound of someone knocking vigorously on the door. It takes her a few seconds to realize that Catra is lying half on top of her, and that she wants to wake up like this every day. Minus the door-thumping.

“Hey! Lovebirds!” Frosta’s voice pierces the walls. “You’re going to miss breakfast!”

“It’s fresh from the Bright Moon kitchens,” Glimmer adds. “There are pancakes.”

At _pancakes,_ Catra raises her head. “We are _not_ lovebirds!”

“Looks like I’ll be eating your helping,” Glimmer fires back.

“Try it and die, Sparkles. We’ll be there in two minutes.” Catra rolls onto her side but makes no move to get up. Her smile is soft around the edges. “Hey, Adora.”

“Hi.” Adora knows her smile is goofy. She doesn’t care.

“We better get out there.”

“You love pancakes more than me?” Adora’s attempt at pouting is spoiled by the fact that she can’t stop smiling.

“ _You_ want to skip breakfast?” At that moment, Adora’s stomach growls loudly. With a laugh, Catra slides off the bed. “I rest my case.”

It ends up taking a little longer than two minutes, because when they meet at the door fully dressed, there’s no way they can _not_ indulge in another kiss. When Catra nips at her lower lip, heat blossoms beneath Adora's skin and she leans hard against the wall. Forget breakfast. Catra’s kisses are even better than real food. They are—

This train of thought is derailed by the sounds of Sea Hawk belting out an inane song about coconuts. Catra pauses, then pulls away, but Adora reaches for her hand before it touches the knob.

“More kissing later?”

Catra smirks. “Oh, princess. So much more.”

They step out into the light, fingers entwined. A picnic is arrayed on the beach before them: a long table laden with food, and beyond, colorful blankets covering the sand.

“Morning, Adora!” Swift Wind shouts.

“How’d you sleep, Wildcat?”

“ _Namaste,_ friends.”

“Hi, everyone.” Adora feels a little self-conscious at all the attention. “Sorry we woke up so late.”

“No need to apologize.” Bow shoots a look at Glimmer. “ _Some_ of us wanted to let you rest.”

“Because resting is definitely what they were doing,” Mermista mutters.

Adora blinks at her, feeling the blush creep into her face. No, no, no. Not right now! She doesn’t dare look at Catra. Is it really possible that Mermista is somehow aware of what happened between them last night? And… this morning? What if _everyone_ already knows about touching and advanced kissing _except_ her?

“Of course they were!” Bow’s voice is higher pitched than usual. “Anyway. Dig in.”

At that moment, Melog emerges around the edge of the nearest cabin, racing toward them. Adora is certain they have come to greet Catra, but Melog skids to a stop directly before her, then rears up to rest their paws on her shoulder. Before she can do more than blink, Melog is covering her face with sloppy kisses.

“How fascinating,” Entrapta’s voice is behind her. “I thought Melog was bonded to Catra.”

“They are,” Glimmer says wryly. “And who do you think Catra is bonded to?”

“Ohhhh.”

“My fists are gonna bond with your face if you keep that up, Sparkles.”

The words are textbook Catra, but there is no real heat behind them. Adora scratches Melog behind the ears, staggering a little under the weight of their paws. “I’m happy to see you too, Melog, but you are a little heavy.”

Melog chirrups, butts their head against Adora’s shoulder, and returns to four feet. They twine themselves through Catra’s legs.

“So, Entrapta,” Adora says, wanting very much to deflect the conversation away from herself, “did you and Hordak discover anything in the ruins?”

“Yes! And we have no idea what any of it means!” Entrapta’s smile splits her face. “We have _so_ much work to do. Glimmer said she’d take us back as soon as we’ve eaten!”

“We also have a proposition,” Hordak says.

Scorpia gasps. “You _proposed_?”

For a split second, Hordak seems entirely taken aback. Then, he begins to glower. “I—I did no such—that is…”

“Proposition,” Perfuma explains, patting Scorpia’s shoulder. “An idea. Not, ah, marriage.”

“Got it, got it,” Scorpia says. At least she is the one blushing now. “Sorry.”

Beside her, Adora can practically feel Catra shaking with silent laughter. She throws an elbow, but it’s much gentler now than when they were teenagers. Catra tries unsuccessfully to glare at her while simultaneously biting her own lip.

“We want to create a laboratory on Beast Island!” Entrapta announces, blessedly oblivious to the awkwardness. “There’s already so much First Ones’ tech there. We might even be able to build another space ship!”

“Do you not remember how creepy that place was?” Swift Wind says indignantly.

“Not to mention how often it tried to kill us?” Bow chimes in.

“Why are we not eating?” Frosta moves toward the table. “I’m eating.”

Adora falls in behind her, secretly relieved. She is even hungrier than usual. Catra moves with her, and their hips bump as they survey the feast before them. When Catra’s tail brushes against her leg, Adora smiles. Catra grins back.

At the sound of a throat clearing, Adora blinks. Only then does she realize they have been standing there staring at each other instead of helping themselves to the food. She turns to see Sea Hawk behind them, Mermista at his side.

“The tiny scones _are_ a wonder, but perhaps you’d like to keep the line moving?” he suggests. Mermista just rolls her eyes.

“Right! Tiny scones.” Adora smiles weakly, grabs a plate, and tries to focus. Except that she can’t help but sneak a glance at Catra, who just so happens to be looking back at her. Now, Adora is the one struggling to restrain her laughter.

“I think the creatures on the island are violent because of the corrupted signal,” Entrapta is saying. “If we can hold them at bay long enough to disable it, we’ll know for sure.”

Corrupted signal. Beast Island. Important topics. Adora mentally slaps herself. “That’s a great idea, Entrapta. After this vacation, we should plan a mission to give your strategy a try.” Only as she hears the words leave her mouth does Adora realize she has fallen into old habits by forgetting to ask the others’ opinions. “If everyone else agrees, I mean,” she adds hastily.

“Do we have to decide right now?” Bow asks. “We’re supposed to be relax—” His tracker pad chooses that moment to beep, but instead of scowling at it, he smiles broadly. “Do we have enough food for Spinny and Netossa?”

“I’ll get them!” Glimmer vanishes in a cloud of sparkles. Moments later, she returns with both women in tow. Spinnerella exudes equanimity as usual, but Netossa seems a bit frazzled by the teleportation.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Perfuma says warmly.

“We weren’t about to miss the Ice Ball tournament.” Spinny smiles at Frosta.

Adora has a few things she would like to discuss with Netossa, but now is not the time. Instead, she carries her laden plate to one of the blankets. When Catra settles beside her, she is unaccountably relieved. As they eat, banter rises and falls around them, but Adora struggles to pay attention to it. Catra is close, but not touching. She wants them to be touching. Is this feeling normal? Or is she being too… needy?

Melog, who has been sniffing the cloud surf, chooses that moment to stretch out in the sand along the edge of their blanket. Adora leans back, reclining against them. She stares up at the moons directly overhead, squinting in an effort to focus on the rings of the largest one. Now that she has been in space, she knows the rings aren’t actually solid.

A sudden yearning comes over her: a desire to be back on Darla, gliding through the inky vacuum between worlds. As much as she loves Etheria, its claim on her is often exhausting. Part of the appeal of this next Best Friends’ Squad road trip is the opportunity to rest as they travel—to enjoy the company of her friends without Prime’s threat looming overhead. To enjoy _Catra’s_ company, now that there is only honesty between them.

As if Catra can hear her thoughts, she rests her head on Melog’s flank and reaches for Adora’s hand. It’s a simple, uncomplicated touch, but it means everything. Adora smiles and closes her eyes, content to listen to the conversations ebbing and flowing around her. Her friends are all safe. They are all even reasonably happy, though Mermista still refuses to concede that this is an actual beach, and wrong-Hordak appears to be confused by the difference between raisins and chocolate chips.

Adora squeezes Catra’s hand because she can. Catra squeezes back. Now that her stomach is full, Adora feels pleasantly sleepy. It’s a new sensation. She is accustomed to fighting her fatigue—to pushing through it, no matter the cost. Now, she can give in. Catra rubs tiny circles against the back of her hand with one thumb, and Adora lets the soothing touch send her drifting into a shallow doze. Dimly, she is aware that the group is debating how to spend the day. A tendril of guilt pierces her lethargy. Under normal circumstances, she would be the one organizing everyone… but the light breeze is gentle against her face, and Melog is a surprisingly soft pillow, and Catra’s hand is warm and comforting. It’s okay if she doesn’t take charge right now. Isn’t it?

“Is Adora dead?!” Frosta’s exclamation is alarming enough to propel Adora back into consciousness.

“Huh? What?” She blinks hard, eyes adjusting to the light of the largest moon that has now fully risen overhead.

“Obviously she’s not _dead,_ Snowflake,” Catra says sourly. “She was resting.”

“My name is not ‘Snowflake,’ Horde scum. And Adora never rests!”

“Well, she does now. Fight me.”

“I will!”

“No fighting.” Adora levers herself into a sitting position. “I’m up. What are we doing?”

“Ice Ball!” Frosta shouts.

Sure enough, Netossa has erected a large net on the beach, extended between two palm trees. She takes charge of one team, while Frosta captains the other. Much to Netossa’s chagrin, the logic of “youngest chooses first” wins the day, and the ensuing draft is swift and unforgiving: Frosta takes Glimmer, Adora, and Scorpia; while Netossa chooses Mermista, Perfuma, and Bow. A crestfallen Sea Hawk, a scowling Catra (accompanied by an angry red Melog), and a befuddled wrong-Hordak remain teamless, while Spinnerella prepares to referee the match.

Before Frosta can say something else to aggravate their former nemesis, Adora grabs Catra’s hand. “Trust me, you want Catra on _our_ team. And Melog.” She brushes a quick kiss across Catra’s tight jawline, hoping it conciliates her. “And isn’t Bow technically responsible for wrong-Hordak, anyway?”

“Brother! We are teammates?”

“We sure are, buddy.” Bow sighs, shooting Adora an aggrieved look. “Let’s do this.”

“Dearest Mermista! We are allies in this ice ball adven—”

“Shut up and don’t _mess_ up, Sea Hawk.”

Netossa’s team takes the first game, much to her smug delight. The root system of Mystacor is unexpectedly sophisticated, and despite the sandy surface, Perfuma manages to conjure multiple shoots and vines that enable their cause. After a huddle following their defeat, Team Frosta shifts position, allowing Catra to serve while She-Ra and Scorpia defend the net.

Catra’s first serve is an ace, as are her second and third. Mermista successfully returns the fourth, only to watch Scorpia spike the ball between wrong-Hordak and Perfuma.

“I’m so sorry, honey!” Scorpia frets.

“No apologies!” Perfuma says between clenched teeth. “That was beautiful.”

When Team Frosta wins the second game handily, Catra accepts the congratulations of their teammates with real pleasure. Her tail curls briefly around Adora’s ankle as they settle in to a defensive formation. Adora smiles encouragingly at her but doesn’t attempt a kiss. Does Catra even _want_ to kiss She-Ra? This is clearly a topic they will need to discuss.

Just as Bow is about to serve, his tracker pad begins blaring an alarm. The ice ball falls to the sand. “Uh, guys? That’s the emergency alert.”

Glimmer teleports to where the pad is lying on a nearby blanket. Adora hurries toward her, startled to find her sword in hand. She didn’t consciously conjure it. As everyone crowds around, the static on the screen resolves into the image of Huntara. Her face is haggard.

“Queen Glimmer! She-Ra. I apologize for interrupting your well-deserved rest.” The frown lines on her forehead deepen. “A group of ne’er-do-wells from the Crimson Waste sabotaged a battalion of Horde soldiers in the middle of the night. The soldiers were on their way back to the Fright Zone to comply with the decommissioning orders. The renegades took all their weapons, including five tanks and several laser cannons. I’ve got good people here, but we can’t handle that much firepower. And there are casualties--wounded only, thankfully--among the Horde troops.”

Adora meets Glimmer’s eyes and nods. There’s no way they can allow Horde tech to fall into the wrong hands. And she needs to tend to the wounded as soon as possible. “Send us your coordinates. We’ll be there in minutes.”

Adora looks up to find everyone staring at her. It’s second nature to straighten her spine and clear her throat, even as a distant part of her sighs in regret at the loss of their vacation. “Right. You heard Huntara—we’ve got a fight on our hands. We need to reclaim that Horde tech.”

“Ugh,” Mermista says. “Do we have to? We haven’t even gotten to the steam grottos yet!”

“The grottos aren’t going anywhere,” Glimmer says with a taut smile. “Come on, Princess Alliance. Who’s in?”

No one stays behind, of course. Glimmer groups them in a loose circle on the sand, and as magic flares around them, Adora grips Catra’s hand. Their gazes lock. Adora opens her mouth to say _I love you,_ but before she can speak, the cloud beach disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there's some actual plot now! Who would've guessed. I do have a plan--stay tuned. ;)


	12. Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra encounters Huntara for the second time. Fighting alongside Adora makes Catra feel nostalgic. A surprising development occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold: actual plot!

Hot sand shifts beneath Catra’s feet, light dazzling her vision. The air no longer smells green, and its taste is arid. Apparently, the Crimson Waste is still a desert, even after Prime’s demise.

She-Ra drops her hand.

When Catra’s eyes finally adjust, she finds She-Ra bending over a figure lying on a blanket. Of course, Adora would immediately gravitate toward the people who need healing. The _Horde soldiers._ Catra quickly scans the pallid faces of the wounded. When she sees no one she recognizes, relief washes over her, followed by a wave of guilt. Uncertain of what to do, she turns back to the group. They have clustered around a muscular woman with white hair caught up in a ragged ponytail, her purple skin marred with bruises and a nasty cut along one forearm that she is paying no mind. She seems vaguely familiar, but maybe that’s just because her build is a bit like Scorpia’s—though the energy pouring off her is entirely different.

Then, the memory surfaces, and Catra goes rigid. Last time she was in the Waste, this woman had been with Adora and her friends in the spaceship. Despite being struck by multiple tranquilizing darts, she had managed to escape with Sparkles and Arrow Boy. This is one person who shouldn’t be underestimated. The thought makes Catra bristle, one predator sizing up another.

She hasn’t made a sound, but the woman turns toward her anyway. “You,” she rasps, reaching for a metallic cylinder hanging from her belt.

“Uh oh,” says Bow.

“I always hoped I’d see you again.” The woman looks her up and down with a sneer. With a soft snick, the cylinder lengthens into a staff with cruel points on either end. “Payback time.”

Catra’s fighting instincts are as natural as breathing. She relaxes into the adrenaline burst, widening her stance. Cocking her head, she surveys Huntara for any other weapons beside the obvious. Finding none, she smiles. “You think?”

Sparkles laughs nervously. “You’ve never been formally introduced! Catra, Huntara. Huntara, Catra. You both used to be evil. Look how much you have in common!”

“I don’t have anything in common with this mangy moggie,” Huntara growls.

Catra ignores the dig. Huntara’s trying to get a rise out of her, and it isn’t going to work. She’s clearly big and strong, but probably slow. That’s good. And her arm is already injured, so Catra will be able to use that to her advantage. Slowly, she shifts her weight to the balls of her feet, readying a pounce.

“Actually, you do!” Bow’s voice is higher pitched than normal. “You were both with the Horde, and you both defected. Same team now. Okay?”

Catra has every intention of launching herself at Huntara the moment she so much as twitches, but then She-Ra enters her field of vision. She is even taller than Huntara, but lithe where Huntara is bulky. She-Ra extends one arm, and the ripple of her triceps is glorious. Clenching her teeth, Catra shoves down the thought. _Focus._

“Huntara?” She-Ra’s voice slices through the growing tension. “You’re hurt, too.”

“A scratch,” Huntara says, gaze still locked with Catra’s.

She-Ra’s eyes are shining in concern as she walks up to Huntara and closes one hand around her arm. She starts to glow. The last time Adora was glowing, she was also naked in Catra’s arms, shuddering in ecstasy. Now, Adora is _touching_ Huntara. Catra feels the stretch of her lips across bared fangs. Fury boils in her chest, eating away at her self-control like acid. The muscles in her legs are quivering with the need to spring. Dimly, she is aware that Melog, crouched beside her, is blazing red and growling. Only then does she realize that she is growling, too.

“Uh, Wildcat?” Scorpia’s voice is tinny and distant.

“Should I freeze her?”

She-Ra’s golden nimbus collapses to reveal Adora. Her brow is furrowed. “Catra? What’s going on?”

Catra’s skin is peeling from her bones. The world shifts into shades of crimson. All she wants is to lunge at Huntara, claws extended. Slicing. She steps forward, bends her knees, shifts her weight down.

“ _Catra_.”

Adora is before her, palms on her shoulders. The contact shocks Catra, weakening the grip of her rage. One of Adora’s hands slides up, slowly, to caress her jaw. Her fingers are warm, their caress gentle. Catra finds herself wanting to lean in to the touch. Her growl hitches, then resumes more quietly.

“Hey,” Adora says. “Look at me.”

Looking at Adora means looking away from Huntara. Catra can’t do it. That’s when Huntara will make her move—she knows it. In her peripheral vision, she sees Adora’s frown deepen.

“People are depending on us,” Adora says sternly. “We can’t fight each other right now. Or ever. So knock it off, okay?” She turns toward Huntara, but her palm is still pressed to Catra’s cheek. “ _Both_ of you.”

With a snort of disgust, Huntara retracts her staff. Adora steps between them, blocking Catra’s line of sight. Catra focuses on those sky blue eyes, filled with love and a hint of reproach. She blinks, feeling slightly dazed as the battle-lust starts to ebb.

“Who’s being an idiot now?” Adora says softly. She starts to withdraw her hand, but Catra instinctively covers it with her own, interlacing their fingers. If she isn’t going to be fighting right now, then she _needs_ to be touching Adora.

Adora appears to accept this solution. She retains hold of Catra’s hand, giving it a light squeeze as she turns back to the group. “Okay. Where were we?”

“Are you kidding? You two are _together_?” Huntara shakes her head. “Figures.”

Catra wants to knock the smirk right off her smarmy face. She rests her free hand on Melog’s head to resist temptation. Her heart is still hammering against her ribs, and her claws won’t retract, even when she tries. She can practically _feel_ the concerned looks Scorpia is shooting her, but she has zero interest in making herself emotionally available right now.

Mermista sidles up to her. “Possessive much?”

“Don’t start with me, Fishlips,” Catra hisses back. It is immensely satisfying to watch Mermista’s face turn purple.

“Which direction were the renegades traveling in?” Adora is asking.

“South-southwest.”

“Swifty?”

“I will scout ahead and alert you with our sacred bond!” Swift Wind exclaims. As he takes to the air, he begins singing about how those who stole the tanks will need to be spanked.

“That is one talented horse,” muses Sea Hawk.

After a quick discussion, Glimmer teleports the Horde soldiers to the Fright Zone, and Huntara and her people set off for the Valley of the Lost. Catra is relieved to watch them go, though she also dreads the inevitable conversation Adora is going to insist upon once they find themselves alone. She knows she should feel bad about how quickly the situation escalated, but she can’t quite manage guilt right now. She _has_ managed to let go of Adora’s hand, though the separation is making her itchy. If that’s pathetic, she’s still too keyed up to care.

Adora suddenly stiffens, head tilting toward the sky. Her eyes close, and she starts glowing again—more subtly this time. A moment later, the light fades. “Swift Wind found them,” she announces. “About a hundred fifty miles off, he thinks. How do you want to do this, Glim?”

“We’ll take it slow,” Glimmer says. “Get ready for multiple hops, everyone.”

“Just great,” Netossa grouses. Catra silently agrees.

As the magic surrounds them again, Adora wraps one arm around her waist. Catra leans subtly against her as the jolt of teleportation wrenches her guts.

Three hops later, they are standing on top of a cliff, looking down over a canyon. Layers of dusky red and gold sandstone shimmer in the late morning sun. At the widest part of the valley, a solitary butte reaches for the sky. Below, four tanks crawl toward them, spiders waiting to be crushed.

“Over here!” Swift Wind says from behind a large boulder obscuring their line-of-sight. Catra’s pretty sure they’re too far up to be spotted, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Huntara said there were five tanks,” Frosta says.

“And laser cannons,” wrong-Hordak adds nervously.

Adora cranes her neck around the boulder, then pulls back. With a luminous flare, she is replaced by She-Ra. “Okay. Glimmer, take Bow and wrong-Hordak to the butte. He can keep an eye out for the missing tank and Bow will lay down cover fire for whoever needs it. Scorpia and Perfuma, you’re on the first tank. Sea Hawk, Mermista and Frosta: tank two. Netossa and Spinnerella: tank three. Melog, Catra, and I will take the fourth one. Glimmer, if you can’t find the missing tank, back us up. Questions? No? Then let’s do this.”

Catra has yet to admit this to Adora, but she loves watching her work. Adora throws herself headlong into resolving whatever conflict is before them, and that passion has always been a draw. Now, Catra knows how it feels to have that same intensity directed at her. With a rush of heat, Catra remembers the soft warmth of Adora’s breasts, the urgent pull of her lips, the slick slip-slide of skin against skin. In this context, She-Ra may be their general, but all Catra wants is to have Adora beneath her again, breathless and yielding and—

She-Ra’s hand closes on her upper arm. Catra looks up, and up. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.”

She-Ra rolls her eyes. “I didn’t call you on that the first time you said it, but you know it’s not true.”

“Being careful is boring. And it’s not like you’re careful, either.”

She-Ra’s brows crease. “Things are different now.”

As far as statements go, this is a rather vague and indeterminate one. Still, it hits Catra in the chest like a punch, momentarily robbing her of breath. Things _are_ different now. They haven’t been in any real danger since the Heart. Since then, so much has happened. So much has changed. Catra grasps one of She-Ra’s pauldrons and rises up on her toes to kiss her, hard and fast. It’s the first time she has deliberately kissed She-Ra, and the differences are intriguing. Some other time, they might be worth exploring. Slowly, and in great detail.

“Need a moment?” Glimmer asks silkily from behind them at the same time as Frosta makes a gagging sound.

“Nope.” Catra steps back, licking her lips and flexing her fingers. A quick glance at She-Ra reveals that even in this form, Adora’s blushes are outrageous. “What’re we waiting for?”

Glimmer huffs in annoyance, and then Catra’s stomach is flipping over again, until the sensation of dry grass against her feet steadies her. They have landed ten feet behind the last tank. Out of the corner of her vision, Catra sees Glimmer grab Scorpia and Perfuma, presumably to port them to the front of the line. She looks to her left; She-Ra has summoned her sword and is raising it high for a charge. She catches Catra’s eye and grins, eager and confident. Suddenly, the moment feels nostalgic—like one of their training exercises in the Fright Zone before everything disintegrated. Catra has the urge to yell, “Loser takes double latrine duty!” but thankfully, neither of them have to deal with that disgusting chore anymore.

Instead, she blows a kiss, then leaps into a sprint toward her target. Ahead, red lightning flares: Scorpia at work. As Catra pulls closer, she catches the scent of water. To her right, the second tank comes to an abrupt halt, encased in ice. The tank she is pursuing finally catches on that they are under attack and swerves sharply to the left. Catra cuts with it, then darts in close. These are _her_ machines, and she knows exactly where the fuel reservoir is. She leaps forward, reaching out with one arm, claws extended. Metal shrieks as she gouges deep furrows into the armored plating, then lands lightly on the roof. The pungent scent of diesel is, for the moment, sweeter than Perfuma’s roses. Mission accomplished.

A flash of white and gold arcs overhead, and She-Ra lands near the cupola. With one swing of her sword, she dispatches the commander’s machine gun, then glides forward to slice the main gun in half. The tank grinds to a halt. Catra joins her, and they share a satisfied smile before she yanks open the hatch. When an arrow whistles out, passing mere millimeters from her cheek, she stumbles backward with a wordless shout and crashes against She-Ra. Who is no longer smiling.

“Put down your bow and get out here,” She-Ra calls to whatever thug is lurking in the hold.

“Or we’ll light this tank on fire!” Catra adds.

When She-Ra gives her a _No, we will not_ look, Catra shrugs. Whoever’s down there doesn’t know it’s an empty threat, and that’s all that matters. The scumbag finally emerges—one of the dino folk—and Catra has his hands pinned behind his back in a matter of seconds..

“Say,” she says, tracing one claw along the back of his neck. “Do you know Tung Lashor? You kinda look like him.”

“My… cousin,” the guy pants.

“He still alive?”

“Ye-es.”

“Pity.” Catra looks to She-Ra. “What’s next?”

Shading her eyes from the sun, She-Ra does a quick three-sixty sweep. Catra can’t help but admire the fit of her leggings. Do they come off? Could _she_ take them off? Or would Adora have to use magic?

“Looks like we got them all. Let’s regroup.”

Catra blinks, hoping She-Ra will attribute her blush to the heat. “Uh, you want this one conscious or unconscious?”

“Catra!”

“What? It’s an honest question!”

“We don’t knock people out unless we can’t help it,” She-Ra says, exasperated.

“We don’t? Ugh, fine. We don’t. Here, then.” She gives the guy a hard push. If She-Ra wants him conscious, _she_ can be his jailer.

She-Ra lifts him by his jacket collar, then leaps down from the tank. Catra follows, and they march their captive to where Frosta has created an impromptu, icy prison. Perfuma wrinkles her nose.

“Did you really have to leak all that toxic fuel into the ground?”

Seriously? Catra’s tail lashes before she can help it. What is with these ridiculous people? Do they not understand the exigencies of war?

“Sorry, Petals,” she grates. “I guess I got all caught up trying to _stop the tank,_ which was only, you know, _our mission._ ”

“Catra!” Scorpia looks genuinely angry, which is… well, it’s honestly kind of terrifying. Catra’s ears flatten. “Don’t talk to Perfuma that way.”

Perfuma holds up one hand. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I think Catra is probably struggling to process the disconnect between her Horde training and the expectations of—”

Laser fire erupts all around them. Annoyance forgotten, Catra automatically ducks behind the nearest large object—in this case, the tank encased in a sheet of ice—then looks for Adora. She-Ra is still out in the open, sword held before her, head swiveling as she takes in this latest threat. Multiple cannons have materialized near the butte, and as Catra watches, a tank lumbers out into the open. There was a hidden cave.

The main gun is leveled at Adora. Before Catra can react, a thick green beam collides with She-Ra’s chest, sending her crashing into the nearest wall of the canyon.

“ _No!_ ” Catra sprints toward the cloud of dust made by the impact.

“Spread out and shut them down!” she hears Glimmer shout behind her.

But as a fresh round of laser fire from the cannons fills the air, a distant part of Catra’s mind knows they can’t risk an open assault in that mayhem. They’ll have to take care of themselves. Her only priority is She-Ra, _Adora,_ who is lying at the base of the cliff. Unmoving.

Catra skids to a halt, then drops to her knees. Gently, so gently, she cups one hand beneath Adora’s neck. She still looks like She-Ra, though there is an ominous flickering at the edges of her form. What does that mean? What does it mean that she won’t wake up? Can She-Ra heal herself when she’s unconscious?

“Adora,” she pants, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “Adora, please—”

Some sixth sense compels her to look over her shoulder. The cannons are still criss-crossing the valley with lasers as thick as a spider web, allowing the tank to crawl closer. It is only a hundred feet away, and as Catra watches, its gun lowers to face her. The barrel glows green.

Catra doesn’t want to live in a world without Adora in it. This has always been true. But now that she has kissed Adora—now that she has _touched_ Adora—she wants more. So much more. It’s not time yet. They _both_ need to stay. She absolutely refuses to let some ridiculous Crimson Waste scumbag end their existence when they fought so hard to find their way back to each other.

Catra shifts, crouching over Adora and staring into the maw of the gun. She screams in rage and defiance.

The scream emerges as a roar, rippling the air like a stone, a _boulder,_ ripples water. The gun collapses in on itself, crumpling like paper in a fire, taking the entire hood and turret with it. Searing pain lances through Catra’s head, and she collapses on top of Adora. Adora, whose slow, even breaths are everything Catra needs. Adora is alive. That’s all that matters.

Shadows flicker at the edges of her vision. When she hears Bow’s voice, Catra tries to look up. Instead, she only manages to nuzzle her face into Adora’s neck. The scent of her momentarily overpowers the agony drilling through her temples.

“Catra!” Glimmer’s shrillness is like an ice pick in her skull. “What happened? Is she—are you—”

Turning her head makes Catra want to vomit. She swallows hard, bile scorching her throat, one ear pressed against the fabric above Adora's heart. Adora, who is breathing.

“Alive,” she pants, swallowing down bile. “She’s—”

Darkness grabs her unceremoniously, pulling her down into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since (repeatedly, endlessly) watching the She-Ra finale, I've been wondering what it MEANS that the magic of Etheria is free. I finally decided that, in my head canon at least, the magic would disperse among the population. Maybe it "chooses" those who need it most, or maybe it's distributed equally, awaiting an opportunity to manifest. We shall see...


	13. Strange Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The sensation of light returns, dissolving the darkness into gray mist. A single beam of gold pierces the gloom. Catra focuses on it, exerting all her will. She wants to feel its warmth on her face, wants to follow it up to its source. To Adora."
> 
> In which Adora realizes the limitations of her healing powers, Catra struggles to accept her newfound ability, and Bow laments that he is still not a princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Between work being extra busy and the insanity of the U.S. election, it's been a struggle to find the time and focus. Hoping to post more regularly from now on. 
> 
> And thank goodness that HORDE PRIME HAS BEEN DEFEATED! :P #BidenHarris2020

“What _happened_? Did she get hit, too?”

Adora is afraid. Catra can hear it in her voice, though the words sound like they are coming from far away. It’s not like Adora to betray fear; in fact, fear is the only emotion she’s actually good at hiding. Catra is suddenly desperate to be at her side. She tries to open her eyes, but her surroundings are pitch black. Where is she? Why can’t she see or move?

“Are you sure _you’re_ okay? Adora? Adora!”

Glimmer. Why is she asking whether Adora is okay? Why wouldn’t she be? Catra can’t remember how she got here, or why Adora is upset. Dread coats her mind, oil on water.

“I’m _fine._ Why is she unconscious?”

Catra tries to open her mouth—to call Adora an idiot, to reassure her—but nothing happens. _Is_ she unconscious? That would explain why she can’t move. But then how can she hear everything?

“The tank didn’t shoot her. She… I don’t know how to explain it.”

A memory sparks in the boundless midnight: Adora, sword raised, taking a laser blast to the chest as the Horde tank rolled out of the hidden cave. Catra remembers screaming, remembers the gritty sensation of sand and stone beneath her claws as she propelled herself toward Adora’s body, limp at the foot of the cliff. Fear roils through the dark cocoon wrapped around her.

“Glimmer, just _tell_ me what hap—”

“She _roared._ There’s no other word for it. She roared, and the tank… crumpled. Afterward, she collapsed on top of you. The last thing she said was that—that you were alive.”

The spark catches. Memories cascade through Catra: finding Adora limp and unmoving, She-Ra’s form flickering. Looking over her shoulder only to encounter the glowing green muzzle of the tank as it prepared to end them both. The desperate, defiant need that had compelled her to scream into the maw of their destruction. Instead, her voice had emerged as a destructive roar, powerful enough to buckle metal.

The fear changes its flavor. What has happened to her? What has she become?

“It’s going to be okay, Adora.” Bow’s voice. “She’s breathing steadily. And Melog doesn’t seem upset.”

“Melog is definitely not upset,” Swift Wind corroborates. “They are merely… waiting.”

“What if she has brain damage?” Adora says insistently. “And Melog isn’t upset because _they_ also have brain damage?”

Catra wants to laugh, until she realizes this is not a terrible explanation for what is happening. What if she _does_ have—

“Catra? Catra, can you hear me?” Adora. Desperate. “I’ll heal her.”

The tone of the darkness changes, night fleeing. Somewhere, there is light. Catra wants to reach for it, but she doesn’t know how.

“Why won’t she open her eyes?” Scorpia’s voice quavers.

“Catra?” Adora is now beseeching. “Melog, please. Help me. I don’t know what else to d-do!”

The tearful hitch in her words breaks Catra’s heart. Melog’s purr is like the rumble of distant thunder. They are trying to tell Adora to be patient. If Catra could laugh, she would: patience has never been Adora’s strong suit. Even if Adora _could_ understand Melog, she wouldn’t be able to take their advice.

“I love you, Catra.” Adora’s voice is deeper, richer. She has become She-Ra. The note of tears is gone, replaced by fierce determination. “I love you, and I am _not_ losing you again.”

The sensation of light returns, dissolving the darkness into gray mist. A single beam of gold pierces the gloom. Catra focuses on it, exerting all her will. She wants to feel its warmth on her face, wants to follow it up to its source. To Adora.

In the murkiness engulfing her, something shifts. She is moving, though slowly. When it occurs to Catra that she is likely nestled in She-Ra’s arms at this very moment, the sensation of movement becomes more pronounced. If Adora is holding her, Catra wants, _needs_ to feel it.

She rises ever faster, gray mist swirling around her, dissolving into milky white ribbons before the piercing rays of that blinding light. Its brightness fills her, searing up her spine to coalesce behind her eyes. The pain is breathtaking, but it is _hers._ Adora’s arms are cradling her, biceps taut against her back. One of Catra’s ears is pressed to the space between Adora’s breasts, and her heartbeat is steady and strong. Wanting to see Adora’s face, Catra tries to open her eyes. It’s far more difficult than it should be.

“Her eyelashes just moved!” Sea Hawk shouts.

The words clang in her head like a gong, reverberating through her bones. Catra would scream if she could, but the sound emerges only as a weak groan. The piercing agony makes her curl into herself, pushing her head harder against Adora in an attempt to shield her ears. With a supreme effort, she manages to raise one hand to her head, trying to block out the noise. Melog’s growl is low, nearly sub-sonic. They are trying to show the others how to care for her, Catra realizes dully. If only the numbskulls would get the point.

“Quiet,” Adora breathes. “That’s what you need?”

Catra tries to speak, but when no sound comes out, she resorts to a shallow nod. The ensuing silence is a relief. As the intensity of her pain subsides, the urge to see Adora takes its place. This time, when she tries to open her eyes, they obey her—but the light is everywhere, and it pierces her skull like daggers. This time, the sound she makes is much closer to a scream.

“Draw the curtains.” The words are soft but their core is strong—a clear command. Quick footsteps echo from the flagstones in response. They must be in Bright Moon. Distantly, she realizes she is trembling. She can also feel Adora’s hand against her cheek, warm and reassuring.

“It’s almost completely dark now.” The words are barely audible. “When you’re ready, try opening your eyes again.”

The low hum of Adora’s voice is a balm, soothing the raw places in Catra’s mind. The sharpest edge of the agony fades, and she is dimly aware of a warm mouth pressed to her forehead. Gradually, her pulse begins to slow. She licks her lips, only to find that her tongue is thick and heavy in her mouth.

Above her, there is the sound Adora snapping her fingers, the sensation of one arm extending outward. In the next moment, a canteen is at Catra’s lips. Water: cool, clean water. When it trickles down her throat, strength returns, a flood breaking through a dam. Catra raises her head, but the motion is clumsy. Water spills over her neck, and she shudders.

“Easy,” Adora murmurs. “You’re okay.”

Steeling herself, Catra pries open her eyes. After a few confusing moments, she recognizes her surroundings. She is lying in their bed—or more accurately, she is lying in She-Ra’s lap. She-Ra herself is propped against the headboard, cuddling Catra close. It’s embarrassing, and she wants to get up this instant, and also she wants to stay here forever.

“Adora,” she mumbles, but most of her syllables are horribly off.

“Catra!” Bow’s whisper is painfully high-pitched but obviously well-meaning. When she slowly turns in the direction of his voice, he waves. His forehead is grimy, his quiver nearly empty. _Right._ Because they had been fighting those Crimson Waste creeps. “So glad you’re awake!”

“You. Okay?” she manages to ask.

He gives her a ridiculously energetic thumbs-up, but as long as he keeps his voice down, Catra feels entirely benevolent toward him. Meanwhile, Adora has returned to her human form, but she is still clutching Catra to her chest. The other princesses and their sidekicks are ranged around their bed, looking worried. Worried for her. That’s new.

“What happened?” Catra croaks.

“You _roared_ and the sound crushed half the tank.” Netossa almost sounds jealous. “How did you do that?”

“No idea.” Panic stirs in Catra’s chest. She swallows hard, trying to tamp it down.

“You’re magic now, Wildcat!” Unfortunately, even Scorpia’s whisper is far too loud, and Catra winces at the fresh lance of pain.

“What hurts?” Adora asks.

“Head.”

“Close your eyes again.” Adora strokes her face gently. “Just for a few seconds.”

Catra obeys, and from behind her eyelids, she perceives a fresh flare of brilliance. As much as she wants the pain to subside, it doesn’t.

“Any better?”

“No.”

“Why can’t you heal her?” Glimmer asks.

“I don’t know.” Even as a whisper, Adora’s agitation is palpable.

At Melog’s low rumble, Catra pushes herself into a sitting position, bracketed by Adora’s legs. “Melog says the...” She swallows again, unable to believe what she is hearing. “The magic flowing through me seared the pathways in my brain and I have a ‘reaction headache.’” She glances at Adora. “Apparently those kind can’t be healed magically.”

“Shadow Weaver mentioned reaction headaches to me once,” Glimmer says. “But only as something that could happened if you tried to use too _much_ magic.” Suddenly, she brightens. “We’ll ask my dad. I’ll go get him.”

“Wait,” Mermista says. “If this crisis is over, I want to go back to Mystacor. We still have two days of vacation left, remember?”

The thought of teleporting anywhere makes Catra’s hackles rise. She feels reasonably certain that trying it will make her brain explode.

“But the crisis _isn’t_ over,” Adora hisses. “Catra’s hurt.”

“Stay here then,” Frosta says dismissively. “I agree with Mermista. Let’s go back to the beach.”

“That doesn’t seem fair when Catra isn’t feeling well enough to join us,” Scorpia points out.

“We’re going to let Catra’s _headache_ interfere with our vacation?” Frosta’s incredulity is accompanied by an increase in decibels, and Catra claps both hands over her ears, hunching her shoulders. Adora stiffens behind her, but before she can chew anyone out, Catra forces herself to speak.

“Get out of here. Go have fun. I’ve ruined enough already, haven’t I?” She doesn’t mean for the words to come out as bitterly as they do.

This time, the silence that greets her is uncomfortable. Catra stares down at the coverlet, wishing she were still unconscious. Of course, Mermista and Frosta don’t _really_ care about her. How could they, when Catra nearly toppled Frosta’s palace and blew the Sea Gate to smithereens? She deserves their contempt.

“This has been a stressful day,” Perfuma says. “But we don’t leave friends behind. We learned that the hard way, remember? Frosta, you should apologize to Catra. You too, Mermista.”

“Ugh, seriously? Fine.” Mermista takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but between the _cloud_ beaches and the _literal desert,_ I am dying to get to the steam grotto. Don’t take it personally.”

Catra looks up. Despite the insistent, thudding pain behind her eyes, and the mirroring ache in her chest, she almost laughs. She should start taking notes about how to apologize from Fishlips.

Frosta huffs. “Sorry, Horde scum. I hope you feel better.”

Perfuma’s left eye is twitching. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Catra knows some response is required of her. She takes a slow, deep breath. At least _that_ doesn’t hurt. “Thanks. But it’s fine. You really should go.”

“Are you sure, Wildcat?” Scorpia is bending over her, solicitude personified.

“So sure.” She tries to crack a smile. “Have fun cuddling Perfuma while sitting in water. Sounds like a nightmare to me.”

Scorpia starts to laugh, realizes how loud she is being, and claps one pincer over her mouth. Catra clenches her jaw against a fresh wave of agony as Adora rubs soothing figure-eight patterns against her back. Finally, Glimmer groups everyone except Bow in a large circle, and in the next instant, they are gone.

Catra sighs heavily and slumps, pillowing her head on Adora’s sternum. Adora’s arms come around her, hands resting lightly on her stomach, and she kisses the top of Catra’s head. Catra is acutely aware that Bow is still in the room, but she doesn’t so much mind that he is seeing her like this. After all, he’s seen witnessed her vulnerability before—back on Darla, after Adora rescued her from Prime. He won’t judge.

“Drink some more water, okay?” Adora whispers, freeing one hand to reach for the canteen.

As she drinks, Adora strokes her hair gently with one hand, the other wrapped securely around her waist. Adora has always made her feel safe. The realization is like a bolt of lightning, and it leaves her feeling a little dizzy. It was true in the Horde, and isn’t that part of why Adora’s betrayal hurt so very much? _Adora isn’t here to protect you anymore,_ Lonnie had said, early on after Adora’s defection. What if most of Catra’s resentment boiled down to that moment—resentment that she not only needed Adora’s protection, but also _craved_ it?

Adora hadn’t just protected her from the bullying of others, Catra realizes. She had protected Catra from herself—from her instincts to claw and scratch and bite at the cruelty of the world. Without her, Catra had stood on her own two feet the only way she knew how: by lashing out at everyone around her. By pushing them away and earning their respect only through fear.

When sudden tears prick her eyes, Catra is absurdly grateful that her back is to Adora. She snuggles closer even as she blinks hard, unwilling to allow the tears to fall. Yes, Adora has always made her feel safe. But that doesn’t mean she is weak. In the Heart, _she_ saved Adora. She isn’t useless or hopeless or irredeemable. Without her, none of them would be here right now. She has worth. She has value. Even Shadow Weaver was proud of her, in the end.

“Any better?” Adora murmurs, placing a kiss behind one ear.

“Not yet,” Catra admits.

Adora’s arms tighten. “It was terrifying when you wouldn’t wake up.”

Catra snorts. “Now you know how I felt in the Heart.”

Adora starts. “Oh,” she breathes. “ _That’s_ an idea.” And before Catra can ask what on Etheria she means, Adora turns her just enough so their lips can meet.

The angle is slightly awkward, but Catra forgets all about that as Adora’s lips move against hers, warm and gentle and soft. As Catra leans into the kiss, she can taste the love Adora has poured into it: a radiance that warms her from the inside out. Adora’s fingers caress the sensitive place behind Catra’s ears as the kiss goes on and on—until all awareness of the world outside their embrace fades away.

When Adora finally pulls back, it takes several heartbeats for Catra to remember why they are in their room, in the dark. As realization strikes, the pain returns.

“Did that help?” Adora asks, and the breathless quality to her voice stirs Catra’s pride.

“That was amazing,” she says, quietly enough that Bow can’t hear. “But the headache’s still there.”

Adora’s nose wrinkles. “Damn.”

Adora cursing is a novel enough event to make Catra laugh. She tries to do it as quietly as possible, shoulders shaking. Melog leaps lightly onto the bed, curling up so their head is on Catra’s knee, and purrs. Catra listens, smoothing one palm over their head.

“Melog’s laughing at you, too.” She finds Adora’s hand, laces their fingers together. “They say there’s no cure except time. On Krytis, some herbs have pain-relieving qualities that can make the symptoms less severe.”

“Maybe there are herbs like that here on Etheria, too.” Adora squeezes lightly. “Perfuma will know. For now, try to rest. Okay?”

Catra nods and leans back again, positioning her head so she can surreptitiously kiss the swell of Adora’s breast. When Adora shivers, Catra smiles into the dark. One corner of her mind is panicking that she somehow has magic now, but Catra tries to seal it off, focusing instead on the sensation of lying in Adora’s arms. For some reason, Bow is pacing the length of the room, but his steps are rhythmic, and they lull Catra into a shallow doze—until a sudden shift in air pressure heralds Glimmer’s return.

“Everyone okay?” Glimmer whispers. “My dad is just wrapping up a meeting and will be here soon.”

“Why does Catra get magic powers but I don’t?” Bow’s interjection is as sudden as it is unexpected.

Catra has no idea what this is all about, but Glimmer’s mouth is hanging open, and Adora seems completely frozen, so it’s up to her to answer. “Listen. My skull is _splitting open._ You can have ‘em, Arrow Boy.”

“I can handle a headache,” Bow insists. “I just don’t understand why everyone is always a princess except me!”

At this implication, Catra’s tail bristles in a truly dramatic fashion. Happily, this doesn’t make her headache worse. “I am _not_ a princess!” In her vehemence, she forgets to whisper, and her own words make her skull rattle.

Finally, Glimmer pipes up. “Exactly! You’re not. Etheria’s magic has been released. It’s everywhere, now.” She slides one arm around Bow’s waist—a conciliatory gesture. “Catra’s powers only manifested in a highly stressful situation. Maybe that’s what triggered the magic?”

“Oh, great.” Bow rests his face in his free palm. “I have to throw myself into highly stressful situations now?”

“Did I say that?” Glimmer’s voice has gone shrill, and Catra winces. “I did _not_ say that! Besides, you literally _always_ throw yourself into highly stressful situations.”

“You’re making it sound like I seek them out on purpose.” Bow pulls away from her, arms akimbo.

“Will you all stop!” Adora’s voice is still a whisper, but it cracks like Tung Lashor’s whip. “We need to figure out what’s going on with Catra. When we do, it will help us explain whether other people will also start to develop special abilities now that the magic of the Heart has been released. Including you, Bow.”

Suddenly, Glimmer’s face falls. “What if… what if _I’m_ the reason you don’t have magic?”

Bow frowns. “What are you talking—”

“Adora saved Etheria in the Heart. In the Waste, Catra was trying to save Adora. What if Etheria gave Catra magic to help her?” Tears well in Glimmer’s eyes. “But I—I activated the Heart. I was stubborn and I wouldn’t listen when you told me it was a terrible idea. What if Etheria doesn’t trust me, doesn’t consider me worthy, and that’s why it won’t give you—”

“That’s just crazy talk,” Catra breaks in. “You know how much I… damaged the planet. If it really holds grudges, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Adora reaches out to pat Glimmer’s shoulder. “I think Catra’s right. The fact is, we don’t understand what’s going on. But we’ll figure it out. Just like always.”

“Maybe we should visit my dads’ library,” Bow says. “They might have some First Ones’ records that mention what Etheria was like when they arrived. Before they started stealing the magic.”

Adora brightens, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea, Bow.”

Catra dimly remembers Bow mentioning his dads’ discovery of the failsafe—right before Shadow Weaver showed up. The spike in her heart rate only intensifies the ache behind her eyes. “I don’t think I’m up for the field right now,” she says hoarsely.

Adora immediately begins stroking Catra’s hair. “Not right now,” she agrees. “Not until you’re better. And—”

A knock at the door interrupts whatever she was planning to say next.

“Adora? Catra? May I come in?”

Catra straightens her spine. That is the voice of King Micah, and she still feels guilty whenever she looks at him. The thought makes her head pound even harder. Adora is looking at her with concern, but before she can say anything, Glimmer teleports to the door and opens it.

“Hi, Dad.”

The King of Bright Moon is holding a steaming mug, which he places on the bedside table. His expression is solicitous, and Catra knows she doesn’t deserve it. She holds his gaze only with an effort.

“Lime tree tea,” he whispers. “The only relief I know of for reaction headaches. It’s also a sedative.”

Catra is already reaching for the mug, but she pulls back her hand just as it touches the ceramic handle. “How strong of a sedative?” No matter how compassionate Micah might be, the notion of falling asleep in front of him is antithetical to all of Catra’s instincts.

“Mild.” Micah is watching her steadily, and she looks away. “It won’t render you unconscious. It will help you fall asleep more easily.”

She is, Catra realizes, going to have to trust him. Him—the man whose wife she trapped in a portal. The man whom the Horde exiled to Beast Island. Yes, fine, _she_ hadn’t made that decision, but it doesn't change the fact that Micah had plenty of reasons to resent her. To want to subvert or even hurt her.

It is hard to make herself reach out for the mug, but it’s the right thing to do. If she wants to gain his trust, she will have to trust him in return. Not to mention the fact that the pain is exhausting. And Adora will have her back. She always does.

“Thanks,” Catra makes herself say, then takes a tentative sip. She anticipated something disgusting—the foul brews made in the Horde to treat illness were always rancid—but this tea has a sweet, floral quality to it.

“Once you’re feeling better, I’d like you to meet with the Sorcerer’s Guild,” Micah is saying. “The Guild is only just _beginning_ to consider the implications of Adora’s discovery that the First Ones were siphoning Etheria’s magic into the Heart. Mara is the only other She-Ra we know of before Adora, and she lived a thousand years ago. That means the planet’s magic has been shackled for at least a thousand years—if not for far longer than that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “We have no idea what the magic being free will mean for Etheria and its inhabitants.”

Catra clings to the mug, fighting the impulse to flatten her ears. What will the guild want with her? She has seen enough of Micah’s magic to know it is absolutely terrifying. And she has been on the receiving end of enough of Shadow Weaver’s spells to know they how painful they are.

When Adora squeezes her hand _hard,_ Catra realizes her breaths are coming far too quickly. Everyone in the room is looking at her with concern. Adora clears her throat.

“King Micah… I’m sure Catra wants to help. But I hope you can understand that we were raised by Shadow Weaver. She often used her magic to threaten and… and abuse Catra. It’s going to be hard for her to trust other sorcerers.”

The sympathy in Micah’s expression makes Catra want to close her eyes. She forces herself to stay focused on him, even as she tries to attune her breathing to Adora’s. In, out. In, out. Nice and slow. There is no reason to panic. He does not want to hurt her. Even though that’s what she deserves.

“I, too, was a victim of Light Spinner,” he says gently. “Though thankfully, she never harmed me. Still, she tricked me and placed me in harm’s way, all for her own gain. I swear to you, Catra, that the Sorcerer’s Guild will not hurt you. We ask only for your assistance, not for your sacrifice.”

Catra takes a long sip of the tea, then nods. “I’ll… I’ll do what I can,” she says hoarsely. “I do want to help. And I want to understand what’s happening to me.”

Micah smiles. “For now, rest. Once the headache subsides, send me a message, and I will convene the Guild.” He pulls a time piece from his pocket and frowns at it. “I’m afraid I am already late to my next meeting.”

“Better you than me,” Glimmer says, giving him a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

When the door closes behind him, Adora speaks up. “You and Bow should get back to the beach. We’ll be fine here.”

“Are you sure?” Bow frets. “I don’t want to abandon you.”

“We’re going to sleep,” Adora says firmly. “Catra needs to rest, and—”

“You got hit by a tank.” Glimmer takes Bow’s hand. “Okay. But check in via tracker pad later?”

Finally, they are alone. Catra sighs, feeling the tension in her shoulders start to unknot.

“Let’s get under the covers,” Adora whispers. “Can you stand?”

Catra puts the half-empty mug on the bedside table before she tries. Adora watches her like a hawk, one arm outstretched in case Catra starts to fall. She does feel a little dizzy, and her legs are wobbly, but they hold. Apparently satisfied by her stability, Adora begins to undress. Catra watches as she tosses her jacket onto the chair, then hikes up her shirt, baring the pale ridges of her abdominal muscles.

“What?” Adora asks, fabric halfway over her head.

Catra scoffs. “Keep going, dummy. I’m enjoying the show.”

“The show?”

“You. Undressing. _How_ are you such an idiot?” Catra starts to pull off her own shirt, but her movements are slow and clumsy. Once Adora is in her underclothes, she closes the space between them to help. Gentle fingers slide the fabric over Catra’s shoulders, caressing the revealed skin, before sliding down to undo her belt.

“You’re beautiful,” Adora whispers, pressing a kiss to Catra’s navel as she pulls down her pants. A spark of heat kindles in Catra’s belly, and though she knows they are both too exhausted for anything other than sleep, the reminder of their mutual desire is a comfort. Reluctantly, Catra steps away to finish the tea before sliding into their bed.

 _Their_ bed. Will that ever get old? She really doesn’t think so.

The sheets are cool and smooth. Adora wraps herself around Catra’s body, nuzzling into the nape of her neck, one hand warm against the skin of her stomach. “I was afraid,” she says, almost too softly for even Catra to hear. “I thought I’d lost you. Again.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

Adora doesn’t answer with words, but she pulls Catra even closer. It is _definitely_ not a hardship to feel Adora’s breasts pressing against her back, even through the thin layer of that pesky chest band.

“I understand if you’re nervous about the magic.” Adora’s voice is a little stronger, now. “I felt the same way, after I found the sword.”

That damn sword. Catra swallows hard. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Adora smiles against her neck—Catra can feel it. “Don’t be afraid. It chose you for a reason. Trust yourself.”

 _Trust yourself._ Catra has only ever trusted herself to destroy. And isn’t that the first thing she did with her power? Turn a tank into wet paper?

“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” she manages.

Adora’s arm tightens, eliminating even the suggestion of space between them. “You were protecting me. Protecting us. The satyr driving that tank is still alive, you know.”

Catra blinks into the darkness, only realizing then that she had assumed her roar killed everyone in its path. Apparently, it hadn't.

“He has a minor concussion,” Adora continues. “He’ll be fine. Imprisoned, but fine.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Catra hears the slur in her words. The tea is starting to work. Already, the pain is ebbing, and her muscles feel heavy, boneless. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Adora rubs slow, gentle circles against her stomach. “See you in my dreams.”

Catra fully intends to make fun of this saccharine declaration, but before she can open her mouth, sleep claims her.


	14. What If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If she had known Catra loved her—if she had known she loved Catra back—would she have left? Could she have left? What if, instead of asking Catra to cover for her that fateful night, Adora had reached for her hand? What if they had gotten out together? What if the Best Friends Squad had always been four? Angella would still be alive. The Sea Gate would never have fallen. No Etherian citizen would ever have been chipped."
> 
> In which Catra convalesces, Adora struggles with what might have been, and Melog serves as a highly effective body pillow. Also featuring Spinnetossa, a discourse upon Etherian magic, and a helpful vocabulary lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the beginning of my Grand Unified Theory of Etherian Magic! Kudos to my wife for helping me hash this out.

Adora bolts upright, pulse racing as she blinks into the gloom. _Catra._

For one excruciating moment, she is convinced she is alone beneath the sheets—that the events of the past few months have been one terrifying, beautiful, and elaborate dream. A vise of despair closes around her neck, and she clutches at the blanket as she struggles to pull in her next breath.

A purr emanates from the foot of the bed. In a heartbeat, Melog is there, eyes shining in the faint light emanating through the gap between the window curtains. When they slide their cheek against Adora’s, she instinctively reaches up to wrap her fingers in their mane.

Melog is real. It wasn’t a dream. When she glances down, her eyes have adjusted enough to perceive Catra, lying beside her. Adora’s first instinct is to reach out, and she barely manages to pull back before touching her. Catra looks like she hasn’t moved since she fell asleep, and anxiety hooks its claws into Adora’s throat until she perceives the steady rise and fall of her chest.

She’s okay. _They_ are okay. Better than okay. They are better than they ever have been.

Melog gently head-butts her shoulder. An instant later, someone knocks at the door.

“She-Ra? I’m sorry to wake you, but King Micah insisted.”

Adora extricates herself from the sheets as quickly as she can, then hurries to the closet for a robe. She opens the door to reveal a guard holding a tray with two covered platters and another steaming mug. Beneath it is a slip of paper.

“I do apologize,” repeats the guard. Beneath her helm, she looks chagrined.

“No, it’s okay.” Adora takes the tray. Only then does she realize her ribs are aching, a lingering reminder of the blow she took yesterday. “I appreciate this.”

“Is there anything you need?”

Catra is in their bed. _They_ share a bed. Catra is ill, but she will recover. They are alive. They love each other. Their friends are happy. Etheria is safe.

“No. We’re fine. But thanks.”

Adora takes the tray to her desk and bends down to scrutinize the note. Micah’s handwriting is neat and precise.

_Adora—_

_You won’t want to wake Catra, but you have to. You both need to eat, and it’s time for her to drink more tea. If you need me, send one of the guards._

_—M_

Judging from the quality of the light in the corridor, it is just past dawn. Adora can’t believe she has been asleep since the previous afternoon. Has she ever slept that long in her life? She watches Catra breathe for a few more moments before finally giving in to the need to visit the bathroom. Afterward, she perches lightly on Catra’s side of the bed.

Catra’s side. Of their bed.

Adora’s smile is so wide it hurts. If Catra were awake right now, she’d call her “dummy” or “idiot,” then make some crack about how Adora would catch flies if she didn’t close her mouth. All the while, her eyes would be sparkling with affection. Feeling selfish despite Micah’s admonitions, Adora runs her fingers through Catra’s hair.

“Hey,” she whispers. “It’s time to wake up for a little while.”

Catra turns onto her back, then stretches. The movement makes her tank top strain against her breasts, and Adora suddenly can’t stop looking at the outline of her nipples beneath the fabric. She wants them in her mouth so desperately that drooling becomes a clear and present danger.

“Adora.” The rasp of Catra’s voice pulls Adora from the haze of her desire. Mentally, she slaps herself. Catra is convalescing. This is no time for distraction.

“Hi,” she says, meeting Catra’s gaze. Her eyes are the barest of slits. Light sensitivity must still be a problem, then. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Catra whispers.

The canteen is empty, and by the time Adora has refilled it, Catra is sitting up against the pillows. Her eyes are a fraction wider, but her brow is furrowed, and the corners of her mouth are pinched. Adora’s heart lurches. Witnessing Catra’s pain has always been awful. It’s even worse now, when she _should_ be able to do something about it but can’t. Catra takes the canteen, but when her hand shakes, water sloshes over the rim. Adora steadies her, guiding it to her mouth.

“Thanks,” Catra says after drinking deeply. Her voice sounds a little stronger.

“Micah had a guard deliver food.” Adora lightly strokes the skin above Catra’s knee. “And more tea.”

There is a long pause. “Why is he being so nice to me?” Catra finally mutters.

By now, it’s easy for Adora to tell when Catra’s guilt has her by the throat. Apparently, the same is true of Melog. They pad across the covers to Catra’s other side and curl up against her, head on her thigh. Adora can only hope that, flanked by beings who love her, Catra won’t spiral too far.

“He’s a kind person,” she says softly. “Not to mention the fact that you saved his daughter and then the entire planet.” She kisses Catra’s cheek. “Let’s eat, okay?”

“Not hungry.”

Adora barely refrains from rolling her eyes at Catra’s petulance. Instead, she kisses the soft skin just below one ear. Not that it’s a hardship. “You still have to eat. Just a little. Your body is healing and you need strength.”

Catra’s jaw flickers, but instead of entrenching, she sags a little. “Fine. But I need the bathroom, first.”

Adora rises, extending one hand. “Want help?”

Catra ignores it and stands, bracing herself against the headboard. For some reason, she won’t meet Adora’s eyes. “It’s just a stupid headache,” she growls. “I can use the damn bathroom by myself.”

Adora watches in silence as Catra slowly makes her way across the room. She has plenty of experience with grumpy Catra, and this is one of those times when keeping her mouth shut is the best strategy. Once the door shuts behind her, Adora carries the tray to the bed, finds her tracker pad, and types out a quick update to Bow and Glimmer. Then, she lets Melog out, instructing the nearest guard to open the door for them whenever they return.

How long does a reaction headache last? Micah hadn’t given any indication. Maybe, once Catra has fallen back asleep, she will try to find some answers. Bow’s idea to visit his dads is a good one, but they won’t be able to do that until Catra is well again. In the meantime, Bright Moon has an extensive library that she’s barely even touched. Perhaps she can find some useful information there.

The bathroom door opens, and Catra shuffles slowly toward the bed. Adora stays quiet, but once Catra is settled beside her, she lifts both platter covers. The food smells _amazing,_ and her stomach growls. Resolutely not looking at Catra, Adora lifts her fork and tucks in.

“I’m sorry,” Catra says. When Adora freezes, raising her brows, Catra huffs. “You look so dumb like that.”

Adora chews, swallows. “What are you sorry for?”

“For lashing out, earlier.”

“If you eat, I’ll forgive you.” Adora is trying to look stern, but she’s not sure it’s working.

One side of Catra’s mouth quirks. “You’ll forgive me no matter what.”

Adora widens her eyes. “Are you sure?” she says, trying to sound ominous.

Catra scoffs. “Mmhmm.”

“I wouldn’t be, if I were you.” Adora hopes she sounds confident. She doubts it.

“After everything you’ve already forgiven me for, pretty sure this is in the bag.” Catra crosses her arms over her chest, looking insufferable.

No. Just no. Catra is _not_ going to win this round. Adora mimics her posture but adds a glare. “Eat your breakfast or you won’t get any kisses from me today.”

When Catra narrows her eyes. Adora follows suit. Catra’s ears are twitching like antennae, as though they will be able to decipher whether or not she is serious. Adora resorts to one of Perfuma’s breath exercises in a likely futile attempt to appear calm and collected. She’s entirely certain that her performance is an abject failure until Catra picks up her fork, and takes a bite. Adora _really_ wants to do some kind of victory dance, but if she does, Catra will stop on principle. To distract herself, Adora focuses on shoveling more food into her mouth.

Before long, their plates are empty and there isn’t a drop of tea left in the mug. As Adora returns the tray to the desk, Catra burrows beneath the sheets.

“I was thinking I might go to the palace library,” Adora says. “They must have a section on magic. Maybe I can find some useful information there.”

For several heartbeats, there is silence. “Do you have to go right now?” Catra says finally, her whisper barely audible.

The uncharacteristic vulnerability in Catra’s voice tugs at Adora, and she turns to meet her gaze. Catra’s eyes glow in the moonlight: one golden, one pale. The melty sensation in Adora’s chest isn’t new. What’s new is that now she knows what it means.

“I’m not going anywhere right now.” She slides under the sheets. “I want to hold you while we both fall back asleep.”

“Sap.”

“Your sap.” Adora curls her body around Catra’s, suddenly possessed of the need to be touching her as much as possible. Lips inches from Catra’s neck, she inhales deeply. Her own sense of smell might pale in comparison to Catra’s, but she still finds Catra’s scent viscerally comforting. She always has.

“I hate feeling like this,” Catra whispers.

Instinctively, Adora pulls her even closer. That’s not an easy admission for Catra to make. “I know.” She rubs her nose against Catra’s nape. “But it won’t be forever.” She doesn’t say the rest of what she’s thinking: that when Catra recovers, she will be even more powerful than she was before. Once, Catra would have readily embraced any battlefield advantage she could get. The fact that she feels uneasy about these newfound abilities shows how much she really has changed.

Allowing herself one kiss—Catra did eat her breakfast, after all—Adora closes her eyes. She figures she will lie here until Catra is asleep, then head for the library. After all, she has probably slept more in the past twenty-four hours than she usually does in a week. There’s no way she’ll nap now.

*

This time, Adora wakes slowly. Catra is purring in her sleep—a low, throaty hum. Adora feels the soft rumble beneath her hand. Her hand, which has crept up to cover the skin above Catra’s heart.

Adora closes her eyes again. She thinks about all the times she has slept with Catra in her bed. As children, they had curled around each other every night for years, all the way into early adolescence. All the way until the morning they woke to find Shadow Weaver looming over them. She had ripped Catra away with the force of her oily magic, shadowy tentacles squeezing her neck.

_“One cadet to a bed! You know better, Catra.”_

_“But Shadow Weaver! It was_ my _fault, I asked her to—”_

_“Quiet, Adora. We all know how insubordinate Catra is._

_“But I—”_

_“QUIET!”_

Adora barely manages to suppress her shiver. For weeks thereafter, Catra had slept alone. One night, Adora clambered quietly up the ladder to check on her. She was curled into a ball, nose tucked beneath her tail, and Adora had wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around Catra like an extra blanket. Instead, she descended the ladder, pulled the scratchy covers over her own shoulders, folded her knees into her chest, and wept. Back then, she hadn’t known why she was crying.

Now, she has a pretty good idea.

Shadow Weaver’s magic had been terrifying, but Catra was resilient. Eventually, she grew bold enough to break the rules again and took to sleeping at the foot of Adora’s bed. At the slightest sound, she would wake and bolt for the top bunk. It was never the same as it had been, of course, but at least it was something. Sometimes, as they settled in for the night, Adora would wiggle her toes against Catra’s hip bone, and the tip of Catra’s tail would stroke her face in tiny, glancing caresses.

_Don’t you get it? I’ve always loved you!_

Silently, Adora curses her own naiveté. She really should have known. Honestly, how could she _not_ have known? When she thinks back to her most cherished memories with Catra, the truth is always waiting to smack her in the face. Catra’s moods might be mercurial, but her love never had been. She had loved Adora steadily since the beginning, and Adora had taken it for granted by not even realizing. How had she been so oblivious? And how different would the world be if she _had_ figured out what was happening between them?

The thought knifes through her mind, pain blossoming in its wake.

If she had known Catra loved her—if she had known she loved Catra back—would she have left? _Could_ she have left? What if, instead of asking Catra to cover for her that fateful night, Adora had reached for her hand? What if they had gotten out _together_? What if the Best Friends Squad had _always_ been four? Angella would still be alive. The Sea Gate would never have fallen. No Etherian citizen would ever have been chipped.

Adora doesn’t cry often, but she feels tears burning behind her eyes now, their force mounting by the second. If she lets one fall, more will follow. Things will get messy. She’ll start sobbing and wake Catra, which is absolutely unacceptable. Swallowing hard, careful not to squeeze Catra too tightly, Adora fights a silent battle to retain her self control. Her heart is pounding, and the slow breaths she is forcing herself to take aren’t nearly enough. Dizziness sweeps over her, a spinning wave.

There is movement at the foot of the bed. One of the guards must have let Melog back in. The thought arrows through her panic: had she really been so dead to the world that she hadn’t even perceived the door opening? Moments later, Melog is pressed to Adora’s side, stretching out against her like one of the body-length pillows in Glimmer’s room. Adora leans back against them gratefully, focusing on the tickle of their mane against her cheek. Sandwiched between them and Catra, Adora feels the pressure behind her eyes gradually begin to ebb. Catra has stopped purring, but now Melog starts: a lower, deeper rumble. Adora keeps breathing slowly, anchoring herself to the sound. Eventually, the room stops spinning, but Melog’s purr never abates.

Melog. Melog would probably still be alone on Krytis if Catra had escaped the Horde with Adora. At the thought, Adora opens her eyes, staring past the slope of Catra’s shoulder toward the pale sliver of light visible between the curtains. Micah would still be on Beast Island. Prime would still be destroying worlds. Etheria would still be locked away in Despondos, unable to share its magic with the universe. Would there even _be_ a Princess Alliance, without Catra?

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in Adora’s throat. She clamps down hard on the impulse—laughter is just as unacceptable as crying right now. There is no way she’s going to interfere with Catra’s sleep just because she is having some kind of meltdown. The truth is, yes, she made a mistake by leaving Catra behind that first night. But it’s also true that this mistake ultimately led to where they are right now: sharing a bed, secure in each other’s love, the world at peace around them.

Melog stops purring, then raises their head to swipe a wet kiss across Adora’s nearest cheek. Without a sound, they rise and return to the foot of the bed.

Crisis averted, Adora thinks. And the crisis was _me._

It is a sobering epiphany. In an effort to avoid it, Adora focuses on vacating the bed as slowly and stealthily as possible. Catra needs her rest, and it’s become very clear to Adora over the past few minutes that she’s only a liability right now. As she stands, she takes a deep breath. In the absence of any twinges, she cracks a smile. A full recovery, faster than expected. Good.

When her stomach rumbles, she glances at the clock. It is already past noon. As quietly as possible, Adora moves around the room, gathering her clothing from the night before. She desperately needs a shower, but food is even higher on the priority scale. It’s not surprising: the worse her injury, the more of her own energy She-Ra’s magic depletes in order to heal it. Getting hit by a laser blast in the chest is no joke.

“I’m going to the kitchens and then to the library,” she whispers to Melog. “Tell Catra, if she wakes?”

The corridor outside is empty, save for the guard stationed nearby. When he snaps to attention, Adora returns his salute but doesn’t pause. She arrives at the kitchens to find Spinnerella waiting in the dining area, looking out the nearest window at the gardens below.

“Hi, Spinny.”

“Adora.” Spinny’s smile is warm, as always. “How are you feeling? How is Catra?”

“She’s still sleeping. And I’m fine.” Adora watches Spinny’s eyes narrow and takes decisive action to avoid an interrogation. “Why aren’t you in Mystacor?”

“Oh, Netossa and I wanted to sleep in our own bed.” A light blush accompanies this answer.

With a jolt, Adora realizes Spinny probably isn’t talking about actual _sleep_ at all. She feels her own face heat up as the memories cascade through her: Catra trembling in her arms, Catra pressing lingering kisses against her abdomen, the indescribable sensation of Catra’s mouth between her legs.

“Makes sense,” she mumbles, then clears her throat.

“You should let the kitchen staff know what you’d like,” Spinny urges. “Then join Netossa and me in our rooms for your meal. What do you think?”

Adora is conflicted. On the one hand, she wants to eat quickly, grab a few books from the library, and return to watching over Catra. On the other, she has never actually used the Bright Moon library, and maybe Spinny and Netossa can give her a few tips to make her visit more efficient. And, she suddenly realizes, both Spinny and Netossa have magical abilities that aren’t tied to a runestone. Maybe hearing about their experiences will help Catra in some way.

“Okay. Thanks.”

As they walk though the corridors, arms laden with food, Spinny regales her with the story of how wrong-Hordak was initially terrified of the steam grotto until Mermista finally dragged him into one of the pools. After that, they couldn’t get him to shut up about the soothing heat of the water.

Spinny pauses at their door, then knocks. Netossa opens it a moment later, and as Spinny crosses the threshold, they share a quick kiss. They’ve been together for a long time, and it’s not like the kitchens are far from their room. Still, it’s clear they missed each other—even for the few minutes it had taken Spinny to fetch their meal. And that, Adora suddenly realizes, is what she wants with Catra.

Forever.

“Adora! Are you coming in or what?” The exasperation in Netossa’s voice propels her inside.

There is some domestic bustling about as the food is spread out on the table. Adora watches how Netossa and Spinny move around each other like binary stars. She has always known they are a good team in battle—instinctively working together, each aware of the other at all times—and the same is true in their own living room. They also touch often: light, glancing touches that almost look like some kind of code, as though they are communicating on two different levels.

“How is Catra doing?” Netossa asks with barely a hint of gruffness, once they are all seated.

“Her headache was still bad this morning. But at least she’s able to sleep.”

“Have you spoken at all about how she feels about her newfound ability?” Spinny says.

Netossa gives a low whistle. “It was really something.”

Adora’s frustration seethes. “I wish I’d been conscious to see it. She’s nervous, I think. Understandably.” This is a good opening for a question of her own. “How was it for you, when you realized you had a magical ability? And… have you always had it? I just realized I don’t actually know.”

“Most members of the Etherian royal families have some magic,” Spinny explains. “The oldest child’s is connected to their runestone, as you know. But the younger children often have an ability tangentially related to the stone. When they go on to have families of their own, their children sometimes manifest magic as well. It’s rare, but not unheard of.” She smiles. Obviously.”

Adora leans forward in her surprise. “Wait, so you’re related to… to the other princesses?”

“I’m a distant cousin of Perfuma and ‘Tossa is related to Frosta.”

“If you do demonstrate magical ability,” Netossa chimes in, “you get named an honorary princess.”

Adora flashes back to the day when _she_ had been named an honorary princess. Her heart clenches as she thinks of Angella. She clears her throat. “When did your powers appear? Or did you always have them?” The notion of an infant Netossa able to launch nets from her chubby little fingers momentarily distracts Adora from the painful memory.

“Magic usually comes in sometime between ages five to seven,” Spinny says.

“Not for Catra, obviously,” Adora muses. “And not for me, either.” A sudden, horrifying thought straightens her spine. “Wait. Now that Catra has magic, does she _have_ to be named an honorary princess?”

“It’d serve her right,” Netossa huffs.

But Spinny is shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Catra knows nothing of her parentage, right? In that case, without a clear link to one of the royal family lines, she won’t qualify.”

Adora feels absurdly relieved. This entire conversation is absurd, actually, but she does _not_ want to put Catra through any additional stress. “You have no idea how happy that will make her.”

A conversational lull ensues, during which Adora finally focuses on eating. The food tastes _especially_ good today, though that might just be a function of her depletion after healing herself and trying so desperately to heal Catra. She frowns down at her vegetables. The fact that her power doesn’t work on those headaches still bothers her.

“Glimmer told us about the conversation with your father,” Spinny says into the silence. “If magical ability is going to become more common now, _all_ the rules need to change. In fact, the entire structure of our society might be upended.”

Stunned, Adora sits there blinking as the words sink in. Spinny has a point: for a thousand years, if not longer, Etheria has been ruled by the princesses of power. The implications of that power being distributed more equitably are, well, _staggering._

“If you ask me,” Netossa says, “that would be a good thing. The Horde was able to gain a foothold on the planet—and then nearly overrun it—because we weren’t doing a good job of working together. Maybe, by sharing the magic more equitably, that can change.”

Adora thinks some response is required of her, but she doesn’t know what to say. This is a lot to consider. A _lot._ Ever since Bow, Glimmer, and Razz showed her the extent of the Horde’s destruction, she has wanted to heal the planet and restore its indigenous people to peace and stability. But what if, now, they can move _beyond_ restoration? What if they can make something better, something stronger?

But… how? When a surge of anxiety clogs Adora’s throat, she puts down her fork. Defeating Prime might have been difficult, but it was at least straightforward. What Netossa and Spinny are talking about would mean demolishing the sociopolitical structure of the planet and building a new one in its place. Is that even possible? And is She-Ra at all suited to help? What _is_ her role now, anyway?

The warm pressure of a hand on her shoulder distracts Adora from this thought-spiral. Spinny smiles at her. “Nothing’s going to change overnight. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Adora swallows hard and nods. Spinny squeezes gently, then releases her.

“Hours upon hours of boring Council meetings,” Netossa grouses. “Can’t wait.”

When Spinny shoots her a severe look, Adora manages to laugh. The lump in her throat mostly dissolves, and she starts eating again. Spinny and Netossa discuss their afternoon plans, then invite her to join them for a walk in the Whispering Wood.

“Have you spent any significant time there, since the end of the war?” Spinny asks. “The changes are really remarkable.”

“I haven’t. And I’d like to see them.” Adora wants to visit Razz, too. “But I was planning to find some books about magic in the library and then keep an eye on Catra.” She folds up her napkin, feeling self-conscious. “Um, do you know how to use the library? Because I… don’t.”

Spinny brightens. “Oh, the librarians are wonderful! They will be so happy to help. We’ll come with you on our way out of the palace to make introductions.”

“You’ve seriously never used the library?” Netossa asks. “You’ve been here for years!”

Spinny shushes her. “Don’t make her feel bad. The Horde didn’t have a library, did it?”

“Not that I know of,” Adora mumbles. She does feel a little bad. She probably should have prioritized learning about the library, but there was almost always a crisis to handle. And in those rare moments of peace, the Best Friends Squad had been more focused on indulging in cake than expanding their intellectual breadth. When Adora considers just how little she still knows about certain topics, dejection starts to set in.

Until she happens to glance at Netossa and is reminded that _crucial details_ were omitted from their last conversation. And that is not _her_ fault.

“You didn’t tell me about the explosions!” she blurts.

“Explosions?” Netossa looks startled. “Where?”

Belatedly, Adora realizes there is no way for Spinny or Netossa to have followed her logical leaps. Moreover, she has now introduced a conversation topic that she isn’t entirely certain she wants to pursue. Her face is getting hot. “Ah. Never mind.”

Netossa’s brows furrow. “Start making some sense, Adora.”

Spinny rests her hand on Netossa’s forearm. “Does this have to do with yesterday’s battle?”

“No, no.” Adora can feel that damned blush spreading across her cheeks. “Um. The explosions that happen when you’re…” she stumbles over how to say the next part. “When you, ah, touch someone.”

Netossa’s frown gives way to confusion. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Spinny, who has been leaning forward intently, now rises from her chair. A quick glance at her expression leads Adora to suspect she is trying to hold back a smile. She leans down to kiss Netossa’s cheek.

“She’s talking about orgasms, lover.”

 _Orgasms._ Is that the technical name for what happened between her and Catra during their night, and morning, in Mystacor? Adora makes a mental note.

Spinny looks at Adora. “Would you like some water? You seem a bit flushed.”

“Ah, sure. That would be great. Thanks.” Adora shifts uncomfortably, wondering whether Netossa told Spinny anything about their conversation of a few days ago. Even if she didn’t, the cat is now out of the bag. In a manner of speaking.

As Spinnerella crosses the room, Netossa arches a single brow. “Explosions, huh? That’s an interesting metaphor.”

“Catra described it that way.”

Netossa snorts. “Figures.” She scrubs one palm across her face. “Given how little you knew _four days ago,_ I thought it would take longer for you to get to the specifics.” She eyes Adora. “Then again, you’re young, healthy, early-twenty-somethings with a history of shared trauma. Clearly, I miscalculated.”

Adora winces at the memory of Prime, smug in his certainty of her failure; at the memory of Catra’s broken body on the floor of his flagship. “Um… that word is weirdly triggering for me.”

“Which word? Miscal—”

“It’s a Prime thing,” she says in a rush.

Netossa holds up her hands. “Got it. Sorry.”

Spinny approaches with a benevolent smile, holding out a tall glass filled with water. “Here you go.”

Adora thanks her, then sips at the water, mostly because she can’t figure out what to say. Okay, yes, she technically _began_ this conversation—even though she didn’t mean to. She really needs to develop a filter. But she’s here now, and there’s no time like the present, and she does still have quite a lot of questions when it comes to—

“There are a lot of terms for physical intimacy,” Spinny says. Relieved, Adora slumps in the chair. “Some of the most common are ‘having sex’ and ‘making love.’ I prefer the latter, myself. Some people enjoy being physically intimate even when they don’t love each other, but that’s never been true for me.”

“Catra and I are in love,” Adora announces proudly.

“Thank you, Force Captain Obvious,” Netossa mutters.

Spinny clears her throat and levels an admonishing look at Netossa. “We’re very happy for you.”

For some reason, this makes Adora feel a little teary. She blinks hard. “Thanks.”

“As it sounds like you may have learned, orgasms are very pleasant. For some people, having one—or giving their partner one—is the entire point of sex. For many others, including me, they are a wonderful _part_ of making love but not the be- and end-all.” Spinny leans her head against Netossa’s shoulder, and Netossa kisses her temple. The exchange makes Adora miss Catra fiercely. “Does that make sense?”

“I… think so?” Adora says meekly. “Making love is about physically showing the person you love them? And orgasms are a part of that?”

“They also just feel really damn good,” Netossa says. “Like Spinny said, they don’t have to be about love. And they don’t have to happen with someone else, either. You can give one to yourself.”

Adora jolts in recognition. “That’s what you meant about exploring yourself?”

“Mm.” Netossa folds her arms across her chest, looking a little sour. “Listen, I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer during our first conversation about this stuff. You totally threw me for a loop.”

“It’s my fault,” Adora says, meaning it. “I kind of ambushed you.”

“Yeah, you kind of did!”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Spinny says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll find some books about magic at the library, and we can also pick out some books about sex. You and Catra can read them together. They’ll describe the many different kinds of acts that are a part of making love, and there will be diagrams with all the proper names for all the relevant body parts. Each person’s body is different, of course, so it’s important to remember that the diagrams are generalizations. But at least you’ll have a place to start.”

“Sounds like they’ve already started,” Netossa mutters.

“Diagrams!” Adora may or may not tear up again in sheer relief. Diagrams are like maps, and the ability to reference a map always makes her feel more confident. “Thank you so much.” Suddenly, the need to see Catra again—to touch her again, even if it’s only holding hands—is overwhelming. “We can go right now?”

“Right this instant,” Spinny says.

In her haste, Adora knocks over her chair.

*

The Head Librarian of Bright Moon, a bespectacled faun woman, is deeply honored to introduce She-Ra to the “joys of information science.” They start with the section on magic, and before long, the librarian’s assistant—a reed-thin young man—is staggering under the weight of three thick, musty tomes. Adora tries to convince him to let her carry them, but he steadfastly refuses.

Spinny has taken charge of this expedition, for which Adora is deeply grateful. She finds herself staring at the floor while Spinny explains that Adora is also in need of some information about sex—specifically, sex between females. But the librarian doesn’t bat an eye, and a few minutes later, three more books are added to the poor assistant’s stack. These are at least slimmer and not musty at all.

After the librarian exhorts She-Ra to “keep the books as long as you need and come back anytime,” Adora returns to her room. She has been away longer than planned, and she hopes Catra is still asleep.

The door opens soundlessly, but she need not have worried. Catra is propped up against the pillows, illuminated by the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp. Melog’s head is in her lap, and she is scratching behind their ears.

“Hey, Adora.” Her voice is still raspy, but it sounds much stronger. And being able to tolerate the lamp is a definite improvement.

“Hi,” Adora whispers. She sets down the books on the nightstand, crawls onto the bed, and doesn’t stop moving until _her_ back is against the pillows and Catra is settled in her arms. When Adora nuzzles her face into Catra’s hair, the resulting purr makes her smile. “How are you feeling? The light isn’t hurting you?”

Catra leans back in her embrace, rubbing her cheek against Adora’s jaw. “I just woke up a few minutes ago. Turned on the light as a test. I can handle it.”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? How’s your head?”

When Catra nips at her chin, Adora can’t hold back a quiet gasp. She is also relieved, because if Catra is being playful, that _definitely_ means she is feeling better.

“Stop being such a worrywart. I got water, and I’m not hungry. Head still hurts, but not like it did before.”

“Okay.” Adora tightens her grip. “I’m so glad you’re feeling a little better. But you do have to eat more.”

“Later. Right now, you stay _here_.” Catra’s tail curls around one of Adora’s forearms.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Adora keeps one hand pressed to the slight swell of Catra’s belly. With the other, she gently massages Catra’s scalp, hoping the sensation will distract her from the lingering pain.

After a while, Catra swivels in her arms and rests one palm on her cheek. “Thank you. For taking care of me.” She looks down, away. “I know I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“We take care of each other.” Adora rests her free hand over Catra’s, holding her gaze.

_You look out for me, and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other._

“Yeah.” Catra turns back, then snuggles deeper into Adora’s embrace. “So you found books about magic?”

Adora’s heart stutters, then begins to race. “Ah. Yes. And also about… other things.”

“Other things?”

Adora takes a deep breath. She really hopes Catra isn’t going to be angry about what she has to confess. “I, um, ran into Spinny outside the kitchens. She invited me to eat with her and Netossa. We talked about magic—they had some really interesting things to say, actually, which I want to tell you all about. But then, ah, the conversation topic… shifted?”

“ _Adora._ ”

The blush is back, and Catra can see it because she has now _completely_ turned around and is staring her down with a look of annoyance. Adora thinks her gaze holds a hint of amusement, too, but she isn’t entirely sure.

“Hmm?” she says weakly.

“What did you tell them?”

Adora clears her throat. “I just pointed out that Netossa hadn’t mentioned the explosions. Which, by the way, are called orgasms.”

Catra wrinkles her nose. “That sounds like a word that means ‘explosion.’”

“Has anyone ever told you that you like blowing things up just a _little_ too much?”

“There’s no such thing as too much.” Catra pokes Adora in the sternum. “What _else_ did you tell them?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

Catra’s slow smile feels like watching one of the moons come out from behind a cloud bank. “Yeah?”

“Yep. And then we all went to the library together and they helped me find books on magic and sex.” At this point, Adora can even feel her _ears_ blushing.

“Sex?” Catra cocks her head.

“Oh! Right. That’s the name for, ah, what we did in Mystacor. Or you can call it ‘making love.’ I think I like that better.”

“Huh.” Catra leans over to pluck one of the books from the nightstand. The movement positions her breasts mere inches from Adora’s mouth. They are covered by a thin tank top, but the contours of their curves are tantalizingly visible. Her lips ache with the desire to kiss.

“What are you—”

In the next moment, Catra is nudging her over so they can sit shoulder to shoulder. “Let’s get reading, princess.”

Adora has to laugh at her enthusiasm, but she does it as quietly as possible. “Are you sure you feel well enough?”

Catra curls against her side, then opens the book to its title page. _Sexual Intimacy for Females: A Guide for Same-Gender Couples._ With the tip of her tail, she flips to the table of contents. “Where should we start?”

Adora stares down at the chapter headings, then wraps one arm around Catra. A wave of contentment washes over her, leaving warmth in its wake. For now, their questions on magic can wait. For now, there is nothing more important than cuddling close, learning together how to love each other.

“At the beginning, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit: I've been sitting on that "Force Captain Obvious" line for months now, just waiting for the right place to put it. :P


	15. Between the Covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As they finally head back to the ground floor of the Library, Adora feels her heart rate begin to increase again. Will there be any news? Will it be good or bad? It’s hard to feel anything but trepidation when everything she knows about her own heritage is a disappointment. As far as she can tell, the First Ones aren’t much better than Prime, except they tried to harness magic for their own greedy purposes instead of trying to destroy it. Now that Catra’s hopes have been rekindled by Razz, Adora wants to spare her any more grief. Perfuma would probably tell her that’s unhealthy—that she should instead focus on controlling what she can control. She’s probably right about that, but easier said than done."
> 
> In which the gang visits both Razz and Bow's dads, and surprises ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry it's taken me this long to update. The end of the Fall 2020 semester was extra intense, but I've finally recovered and I'm fortunate to get a few weeks off now. I hope this gigantic, 9k word chapter somewhat makes up for my recent inactivity. 
> 
> Merry (belated) Christmas to all who celebrate! I hope you're having an excellent holiday season and are looking forward to a hopeful new year.
> 
> This chapter is rated "E," but the smut is the entire last section. Easily skipped if you wish.

Catra absently tightens the straps of her knapsack while Adora frowns down at the map in her hands. Nearby, Bow is polishing his quiver. Why he is doing this, Catra has no idea. She is about to ask, when Glimmer manifests a few feet away, shedding sparkles like dander.

“Everyone ready?” she asks, a little too brightly.

Catra knows she would much rather teleport them to the Library than spend hours hiking through the Whispering Woods. But Catra’s headache, while no longer constant, is still easily aggravated. The members of the Sorcerer’s Guild who had poked and prodded her with their magical spells yesterday had been kind and well-meaning people. Even so, the experience triggered a fresh bout of light sensitivity that lasted for hours. Best not to risk a relapse by teleporting.

“Do you even remember how to walk?” she gibes.

Bow looks up and starts to laugh, then chokes it back at Glimmer’s glare.

“Walking is horribly inefficient.” Glimmer’s nose is in the air, her syllables clipped.

“I think it’ll be fun,” Adora says. “Spinny and Netossa say the Woods have changed since the magic was released. We’ll never see how if we just teleport all over the place.”

“Fine,” Glimmer huffs.

“Oh—do you mind if we visit Razz on the way? I haven’t checked on her since the end of the war. And I want you to finally meet her!”

Bow’s eyes widen. “Are you sure that’s safe? My dads told us scary stories about her when we were kids.”

Adora frowns. “Scary stories? About _Razz_?”

“You know.” He gesticulates aimlessly. “How she rides her broom around the Woods, waiting to turn disobedient boys into newts and then boil them in her cauldron for din— _what_?” At Adora’s laugh, he glowers. “They were legitimately terrifying!”

“Sounds like all those princess ghost stories we were fed,” Catra says. “Your dads really did a number on you, Arrow Boy.”

If she’s being honest, Catra feels just as apprehensive as Bow. Adora has mentioned Razz to her a view times. As usual, she is torn between wanting to meet people important to Adora and feeling preemptively exhausted by the suspicion her presence is likely to rouse.

“Razz _has_ a broom,” Adora is saying. “But I’ve never seen her ride it. And she doesn’t boil newts—she bakes pies.”

“But what’s _in_ the pies?” Glimmer’s mischievous smile twinkles. “Did you ever check? Maybe it was newts!”

Honestly, Catra respects this entertaining display of schadenfreude. When she snorts, Glimmer looks her way and they share a conspiratorial grin. Meanwhile, Bow is groaning while Adora loudly insists that the pies contain berries and _only_ berries.

Finally, they set out. Melog pads at Catra’s side, ready to carry her if her energy begins to flag. She really doesn’t want to resort to that—especially since she just gave Glimmer a hard time about walking—but it’s comforting to know she has the option. Never has she been out of commission for so long. Weakness isn’t something she tolerates—not in herself, not in others. If this is the universe’s way of teaching her a lesson, she isn’t amused.

Adora nudges her gently. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Catra says automatically. When Adora blinks and sticks her hands in her pockets, Catra realizes she has reverted back to her usual defensiveness. She sighs. “I mean… I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Really?” Adora’s hopeful smile is blinding.

“Yes, really. Idiot.”

They officially enter the Whispering Wood a few hundred yards from Bright Moon’s fortifications, and the changes are indeed significant. The foliage is denser, more lush. Every plant has flowered. Golden motes have filled the air of Etheria ever since Adora released the Heart’s magic, but their density is greater here. When Catra can no longer hold back her sneeze, she immediately glares at Bow.

“Not a _word._ ”

He smiles disarmingly. “Who, me?”

As they continue into the Woods, they return to a conversation that has been ongoing for the past several days. Upon their return from Mystacor, Glimmer and Bow proved more than happy to join the mission to learn more about the history of Etherian magic. Glimmer even convinced Castaspella to let her borrow books from the Sorcerer’s Guild to add to their collection from Bright Moon’s library. Ever since, the four of them have been scouring magical tomes, debating their discoveries. By day, anyway. After the evening meal, Catra curls up next to Adora in bed and they read different kinds of books altogether—books they keep secure in the nightstand drawer whenever their friends are about.

They haven’t made love since Mystacor because they’re both afraid that doing so will aggravate Catra’s headache. Instead, they read about sex for hours each night, pausing often to discuss what they are learning. It’s a special kind of torture. Adora’s notebook has plenty of newly filled pages, including a list of activities they have agreed they’d like to try. The depth of their ignorance really was staggering, and each new discovery is made all the more meaningful because they are learning together.

For instance, Catra now knows that her favorite body part is called the clitoris, and that it isn’t just comprised of the sensitive nerve cluster she—or better yet, _Adora_ —can touch. Oh, no. It turns out that most of the clitoris is _internal,_ and that those hidden parts do all kinds of things, including increasing the lubrication her body produces while aroused. That lubrication is extra important if they ever want to try what the books refer to as “penetration.” This is not Catra’s favorite word—honestly, it sounds like something Sea Hawk might shout before trying to stab somebody—but the books have assured them that the act is often pleasurable. She can’t help but smile as she remembers Adora whacking herself in the forehead upon reading about the places inside their bodies that are likely to bring the most pleasure.

“So _that’s_ what Netossa meant! Now, I get it.”

Compunctions about terminology aside, Catra has since been frequently ambushed by the thought of being _inside_ Adora. It’s the intimacy of the act that pulls at her—the idea of them being _one._ The mental image blindsides her while she brushes her teeth; while she tries to focus on a magical treatise; while she exchanges soft, loving kisses with Adora before they fall asleep. In the moment, Adora wrote that down as something they both wanted to try. But did she mean it? And does she want to be inside Catra? Or does she want Catra to be inside her? Maybe even both? Honestly, the more they learn, the more complicated sex seems to get.

“Are you okay?” Adora whispers.

Catra blinks. She is walking through the Woods, one hand on Melog’s mane. Ahead, Bow and Glimmer are talking quietly. When Adora reaches for her free hand, Catra hesitates. They are a little clammy. Her heart is beating faster than normal, and her mouth is rather dry.

“You don’t want to hold my hand?” Most of Adora’s pout is pretense, but a tiny part of it is not.

“Of course I do. But… mine are, uh, sweaty.”

Adora cocks her head. “What were you thinking about?” Then, before Catra can answer, she decisively interlaces their fingers. “I don’t care about sweat. But you still have to answer the question.”

“I do _not,_ ” Catra scoffs _._

“Yes, you do.” A sly grin spreads across Adora’s face. “Or I’ll tell Bow and Glimmer your middle name.”

Catra’s tail frizzes before she can control it. She glances ahead fearfully, hoping neither have heard this threat. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Just tell me what you were thinking, and your dignity will be preserved.”

“I hate you.”

Adora smirks. “You love me.”

Catra swats at Adora with her tail, but she dodges easily. When she takes a few steps toward Bow and Glimmer, Catra hisses. “Fine! Get back over here.”

“You were saying?” Adora’s tone is smug.

Catra takes some comfort in the fact that what she is about to confess will likely leave Adora red-faced and stammering. “I was thinking about sex and how it would feel to be inside you. There. Happy now?”

Adora grinds to a halt, and sure enough, a dark flush is spreading across her cheekbones. Right on cue. “Y-you were?”

“Yes. I was. Now start walking, dummy, or the Glitter Twins are going to realize we’ve fallen back. You don’t want them asking questions, do you?”

Panic appears in Adora’s eyes, and she lurches back into motion. Catra’s hearing is good enough to catch the fact that her breathing is heavier than normal. But is that because the thought makes her aroused, or because it makes her nervous? Catra risks a quick glance at her face. Hmm. Maybe both.

“I think I want that, too.” Adora’s voice holds a note of vulnerability that trips every single protective instinct buried in Catra’s cells. She squeezes Adora’s hand gently.

“Hey. I don’t ever want to try anything that you don’t feel ready for.” This is something they have reassured each other of repeatedly over the past few nights of reading, but Catra thinks Adora might need to hear it again right now.

“I know. But I think…” Adora clears her throat. “I _know_ I do. Want that. You. I want _you_ , Catra. Like that.”

Love sparks in Catra’s chest even as a rush of _want_ flares low in her abdomen. Once, she had believed Adora could never reciprocate her feelings. The fact that Adora not only loves her, not only desires her, but also wants her in _that_ way is more than she has ever dared to dream.

Nosy questions be damned. Catra plants her feet, then pulls Adora close. She threads her arms around Adora’s neck, then leans in to claim her mouth in a fierce kiss that telegraphs the depth of her need. Adora’s surprised gasp is followed by a soft whimper that electrifies every cell in Catra’s body. _More._ She just wants more. More and more and more, until there is no space between them. Until she is inside Adora, where she belongs _._

“Are you even _serious_ right now?” Glimmer’s shrillness is earsplitting.

Reluctantly, Catra pulls away. Her growl is instinctive, but Glimmer just rolls her eyes.

“That’s not appropriate, Catra,” Bow says mildly.

“Neither is being _interrupted._ ”

“Neither is making out in the middle of the Whispering Woods when you’re supposed to be on a mission!” Glimmer shoots back.

“Uh, guys?” Adora’s hands are back in her pockets, and her shoulders are hunched. Her face is still very, very red. “We... I mean, _I,_ missed the turn-off for Razz’s home.” She points her thumb in the direction they just came from. “It’s back that way, about a hundred yards.”

“Ugh!” As Glimmer stomps off, Bow trails in her wake.

“You two are _so cute_!” he whispers as he passes.

“I mean it this time,” Catra mutters. “I am going to kill your friends.”

*

When they finally spy the entrance to Razz’s cave, Adora motions them into a huddle. “Just keep in mind that Razz is old—over a thousand years old. She remembers Mara, but she can’t always remember what time it is.”

“Why doesn’t she own a clock?” Glimmer asks.

Adora laughs. “No, I mean that she sort of… drifts. Between Mara’s time and now.”

Bow, who is clearly sick with worry but valiantly trying to hide it, swallows hard. “You’re sure you’ve never seen her turn someone into a newt?”

“It’s not going to happen.” Adora pats him on the back. “I promise.”

Catra hangs back slightly as Adora makes her way toward the ragged curtain hung between massive tree roots that apparently functions as Razz’s door. Glimmer looks as nervous as she feels. Catra flashes back to Glimmer’s speech of a few days ago and thinks she knows why. Both she and Glimmer are haunted by their mistakes. Someone as old as Razz probably has some definitive ideas about what is and is not good for Etheria, and they have each nearly ended the world. Not good.

“Razz?” Adora calls. “Are you there?”

“Mara, dearie! Is that you?”

Adora’s smile is fond. “No, Razz. It’s me. Adora. And I’ve brought friends.”

Catra blinks as a bespectacled woman with disheveled, pale hair emerges from the cave, broom in hand. She squints at them, then beams. “Adora! Good timing. I just took the pie out of the oven.”

Adora steps forward to embrace her. “Razz, there are some people I need you to meet. This is Glimmer—Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon. And this is Bow. They took me in, after I left the Horde.”

As Razz pats Bow on the cheek, Catra has to hold back her laughter at the panic in his eyes. “I know your face. Such brave words, in the battle.” As he blushes, she turns to Glimmer. “I knew your mother. She would be proud of you now, even though you almost ruined everything.”

While Glimmer stammers out a thank-you, Catra steels herself for what’s coming. She, also, almost ruined everything. And the only reason it hadn’t worked had been Angella. When Adora turns, hand extended and smiling, Catra swallows hard and allows herself to be pulled close. Whatever is about to happen: she deserves it.

“And this is Catra.”

“Ah. Catra.” Razz tilts her head. “Melog has told me all about you.”

Catra’s tail bristles. “You know Melog?”

Razz’s laugh is hearty. “Of course! They sought me out as soon as the magic was free.”

Melog noses at Razz’s hip, then circles her legs. Catra thinks back to them telling her they planned to visit friends in the Whispering Woods. It makes a certain kind of sense that an ancient magical being like Melog would gravitate toward someone like Razz.

“But they did not say you were a magicat.” Razz wags one crooked finger at Melog. “I haven’t seen a magicat since… was it yesterday?” Razz blinks owlishly. “No. It has been a very long time.”

Catra feels as though she has been clubbed over the head. “A what?” she croaks.

Melog mewls in surprise, shaking their mane. They didn’t know. _Magicat_ is a world they have never heard before.

“A magicat.” Razz breaks into a toothy grin. “You!”

In the next instant, Adora’s arm is around her waist and Melog is pressed firmly to her other side. Catra isn’t in danger of toppling over—she might not be at her best, but she is still _herself—_ but she secretly appreciates the comfort of their touch. _Magicat._ The name rattles in her brain. Catra clenches her teeth, willing down the sudden, dizzying surge of hope. She gave up on ever learning more about her origins long ago. Is this really the truth she so desperately wanted as a child? The proof that she is not the _freak_ other cadets had always accused her of being?

Then, Catra catches herself. No. This is ludicrous. Thinking that way only leads to disappointment. Razz is often confused, Adora said. She’s probably just confused about this, too.

“Madame Razz,” Glimmer says. “I’ve never heard of a race of beings on Etheria called magicats.”

Razz draws herself up to her full height. “And you think you know everything, do you? Just because you are _Queen_ of Bright Moon?”

“No, of course not. But surely if magicats were Etherian, we’d have information about them in the library and learn about them in school, and—”

“The magicats disappeared to their hidden underground city of Halfmoon shortly after Mara…” Razz trails off, suddenly blinking more rapidly.

“Do they still exist?” Bow asks.

Razz looks at him as though he _is_ a newt. “Of course they exist. One is standing right there!”

Catra looks down at her feet. _Magicat._ Her thoughts are oddly sluggish. An underground city. Is _that_ where she is from?

“Razz,” Adora says, an edge of excitement in her voice. “Do you know where Halfmoon is located?”

Razz flings the hand not clutching Broom into the air. “Of course I don’t! Do I look like a magicat to you?”

*

Even seeing it for the second time, the Library’s marbled edifice impresses Adora. It rises up into the surrounding trees, vines snaking along its walls. As they make their way toward it, she sneaks yet another look at Catra—probably her hundredth in the past hour. Catra is still staring at the ground, still frowning.

Since leaving Razz’s, Catra hasn’t said very much. Bow and Glimmer had wanted to indulge in wild conjectures about the magicats and Halfmoon, but when Adora realized how uncomfortable Catra was feeling, she got them to change the subject. From then on, their conversation has focused instead on Bow’s increasing nerves the closer they get to his home. Adora has no idea why he finds it so intimidating to tell his dads about being in a relationship with Glimmer, but then again, who is she to talk? The closest thing she’d ever had to a parent is Shadow Weaver.

No sooner have they set foot on the stairs than Lance and George burst out of the front door, smiling and talking over each other about how wonderful it is to see them. Adora finds herself squeezed in a suffocating embrace that involves her face being smushed against Lance’s shoulder and Glimmer’s elbow digging into her ribs. In another heartbeat, she realizes who has been excluded. With difficulty, she takes a deep breath.

“Lance and George, there’s someone I— _we_ —want you to meet.”

The hug’s constriction loosens just enough for her to turn. Catra is standing still, spine straight and arms at her side, tail curled around one leg. Her tail only does that when she’s nervous and trying to make sure it doesn’t fluff up. Beside her, Melog presses close.

“This is Catra. And Melog.” Adora glances from Catra to Bow’s dads. George’s lips have formed a thin line, and he is frowning. Lance looks worried. Adora’s heart flip-flops, but her courage is buoyed by a surge of protectiveness. Maybe their suspicion _is_ warranted: Catra was awful for years. But surely they saw her speech during the Magic Restoration Festival. It’s time to start forgiving, if anyone is ever going to move forward.

“Catra rescued Glimmer from Horde Prime’s flagship,” Adora says, deliberately adding an edge to her words. “And we discovered Melog while trying to learn about Prime’s weakness. In the battle for Etheria, Bow wouldn’t have been able to block Prime’s signal to the chips without Melog. And without Catra…” she pauses, allowing herself to remember the Heart—the agony, the despair, the sudden, searing clarity. After that, there had been only love. “Without Catra, none of us would be here.”

Adora reaches out to her, but Catra doesn’t move. For one terrible moment, Adora is terrified that Catra won’t take her hand, after all. This has turned into a difficult day. Is she about to run again? If she decides to turn tail and flee on Melog’s back, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop her.

Just as the thought crosses her mind, Catra’s fingers entwine with her own—warm and callused and familiar. The relief is dizzying.

“Welcome to the Library, Catra and Melog.” Lance’s voice pierces through her haze.

“Thank you,” Catra murmurs.

George remains silent, but at least he doesn’t object. Adora decides to be content with this détente—for now, anyway. She does not, however, release Catra’s hand. They follow Bow and Glimmer through the Library’s double doors, into the ground floor chamber.

“Wow,” Glimmer says, looking around. “You did an amazing job of cleaning this place up.”

Bow pauses before the stand holding the large vase displaying She-Ra riding a dragon. “And you even fixed the She-Ra Hydria!”

George groans. “Remember when we decided to complete that thousand-piece Salinean puzzle that was mostly the ocean? Patching up the hydria was even _more_ frustrating.”

Adora glances at Catra, who is still frowning, but now in confusion. “According to that vase thing, at least one previous She-Ra rode a dragon,” she whispers. “Don’t tell Swift Wind, but I’m a little jealous.”

Lance directs them to sit on the couches in the room’s far corner. “Are you hungry? I’ll get snacks!”

“No, no,” Bow says. “We just had Madame Razz’s pie. We’re stuffed.”

Adora doesn’t entirely agree with this assessment, but she keeps her mouth shut. Now thoroughly distracted, Lance grills them about what Razz is like while George excuses himself to procure drinks. As they sit, Adora doesn’t let Catra’s fingers slip from hers. With a gentle squeeze, she rests their hands on her knee. When the corners of Catra’s mouth twitch, another wave of relief washes through her.

“Ice cold lemonade!” George bustles in, wearing an apron and holding a tray. Tall glasses filled with pink liquid crowd its silver surface. Catra accepts one, but as they all raise their glasses for a toast, Adora can tell she is only pretending to drink. Does she honestly think Bow’s dads would _poison_ her? _Would_ Bow’s dads poison her?

Of course they wouldn’t. Adora only barely tamps down the urge to smack her own forehead. Instead, she reaches for Catra’s glass while no one is looking in their direction, switches it with her own, and takes a long sip. Over the rim, she meets Catra’s glare with what she hopes is a reassuring expression. Not for the first time, she wishes She-Ra’s magic included telepathy. _This isn’t the Horde,_ she wants to tell Catra. _These people might be holding a grudge, but that doesn’t mean they want to hurt you._

“Where would you like to start?” Lance clasps his hands together. “With Bow’s baby pictures, or—”

“Dads!” Bow’s voice is higher pitched than Adora has ever heard it. “We came here to—to see you, of course, but also to ask if you have any information about Etheria’s magic before the First Ones arrived.”

“That’s our current research topic,” Glimmer adds. “Now that the Heart’s magic is free, we’re not sure what to expect.”

Adora is glad that neither Glimmer nor Bow mentioned Catra’s roar. Clearly, Lance and George are suspicious enough, and Catra is returning the favor. Even so, there is no avoiding the (as far as Adora is concerned) more pressing issue raised by Razz.

“And do you know anything about magicats? Because Madame Razz says that’s what Catra is, but we’ve never heard of them before.” Catra squeezes her hand, _hard_. Adora can’t tell if this is an unconscious reaction or some kind of warning. Either way, her priorities remain the same. They _need_ Lance and George’s help, and she’s not going to let Catra’s paranoia obstruct this mission. “According to Razz, the magicats disappeared to an underground city called Halfmoon soon after Mara’s sacrifice.”

“Magicats?” Lance shakes his head. “No, I’ve never—”

“Orko the Pale!” George exclaims. “I remember a reference to magicats in his collected works.”

Lance’s brow wrinkles in a way that reminds Adora of Bow. “Oh, hon. You know the density of his prose always puts me right to sleep.”

Adora’s pulse accelerates. “Can we see the reference?”

“Bow,” says George, “give your old dads’ bones a break and bring down Orko, won’t you?”

“But that’s the seventh fl—” Bow shuts his mouth with a click. “Uh. I mean, of course I’ll get it.”

As he stands, Glimmer follows suit and links her arm through his. “Seventh floor, you were saying? No problem.”

They disappear in a shower of sparkles. Not for the first time, Adora feels jealous of Glimmer’s power. They’ll probably take the opportunity to steal a few kisses before retrieving the book. A few kisses would make Adora feel substantially calmer than she does right now, and she’s pretty sure they would take the edge off Catra’s nerves, too. Though what she’d _really like_ is to teleport back to their bedroom in Bright Moon and spend the rest of the day curled around Catra under the covers. They would cuddle and doze for hours, and whenever they woke up, she would tell Catra how much she loves her and insist that she deserves to be happy and promise to do whatever it takes to discover where she comes from. And then, after the shock has worn off, the kisses would start. But they wouldn’t stop—oh, no, Catra would press searing kisses to every inch of skin, her mouth sometimes soft and sometimes bruising, and one hand would slide between Adora’s legs while the other—

“Adora?”

“Hmm?” Only when claws dig into the muscles above her knee does Adora register the dreamy quality of her not-quite-syllable. Suddenly panicked, she clears her throat and blinks rapidly. She is _not_ in their bedroom—she is in the Library. Where Bow’s dads have been talking while she’s been imagining—oh. And just like that, her face begins to heat. _Damn it, no!_

“Uh, I am… so sorry. I was, ah, lost in thought.”

When Catra’s fingers flex, the tips of her claws pricking, a wave of heat washes through Adora. Clamping her lips together, she swallows down a noise that she suspects would otherwise emerge as a whimper. What is _happening_ to her? She takes a long drink of lemonade, praying it will cool her face as well as her throat.

“Lance was just hoping,” George says, “that you might be able to speak to King Micah about giving us permission to visit the Ruins of Arxia.”

“Of course!” The words fairly trip off Adora’s tongue. “I can send him a message with Bow’s tracker pad right now.”

Adora has never felt any particular affinity for tracker pads—they are a useful tool that she doesn’t really understand, and that’s about it—but right now, she is deeply grateful that she has an excuse not to look at anyone else in the room. Catra has thankfully retracted her claws, and the pads of her fingers stroke the fabric above Adora’s knee in a soothing rhythm. By the time Adora hits “Send,” she’s hopeful that her face no longer matches the shade of her jacket. Raising her head, she meets Lance’s gaze and tries to look competent.

“So, that’s all done,” she says briskly. “Is there anything else I can—” When Glimmer and Bow appear, Adora is tempted to jump up and hug them. The comforting weight of Catra’s hand keeps her still.

“Here we go!” Bow says, arms straining as he lowers the gigantic book in his arms onto the table top. Its bindings are leather, but the spine is reinforced with thin strips of brass. Reverently, George opens the cover.

“Orko never provided a table of contents, or even chapter headings, for that matter,” he says, almost apologetically. “It will take some time to locate the part I’m looking for.”

“Take all the time you need,” Glimmer hastens to reassure him.

“While George is immersed in the research process, allow me to show you the premises!” Lance suggests. “Last time you—er, that is—the last time Adora and Glimmer were here, they never got the full tour.”

Adora wants to stay with George while he looks through the tome. She doesn’t think he would withhold information on purpose, but what if his animus against Catra predisposes him to miss something? Still, she can’t insist upon hovering. They’re just going to have to trust him.

She squeezes Catra’s hand, then rises. “A tour sounds great.”

“I’m going to stay and help George.” Bow reaches for a quill from the glass jar in the middle of the table. “I’ll make a note of anything you see that seems even remotely promising, okay, Dad?”

George looks up from the book and clasps Bow’s shoulder with one hand. “I appreciate that, son.”

Adora can’t be sure what has motivated Bow to stay, but she’s grateful. Then, when Glimmer looks back over her shoulder before Lance leads them away, Adora thinks she gets it. Bow is going to use this opportunity to tell at least one of his dads about his relationship _._

Lance’s tour hits all seven floors and includes the highlights of the Library’s collection, including a few new items from the ruins they had been investigating when Prime showed up. Adora expects Catra to be preoccupied and uninterested, but she is surprisingly attentive and even asks the occasional question. Mostly, Glimmer chatters away, for which Adora is grateful. After a while, it occurs to her that Glimmer probably doesn’t so much care about First Ones artifacts as she does about Lance’s good opinion. Adora should be chiming in—she actually _does_ care—but she can barely process anything Lance is saying. Memories flit through her mind, crowding out his words: memories of all the times she and Catra ever speculated about their families and where they might have come from.

When they were little, those speculations had been fanciful daydreams of rescue from their miserable existence. Together, they had concocted a vivid backstory in which Catra was the child of two famous explorers who were, even now, on their way back from some remote corner of Etheria. Once they realized that the child whom they left “safely” in their village had been abducted, they would move heaven and earth to find her. They would even convince Hordak to give both her and Adora up in exchange for wealth and treasure from their journeys, and the four of them would go on to have fabulous adventures together as a happy family. In another story, Adora was the daughter of a powerful king who lived somewhere far away. Lord Hordak had kidnapped her, but Adora’s father would one day arrive, demanding to take her away from the Fright Zone. She and Catra would go with him to live in a beautiful golden castle where there would always be enough to eat and the bed were soft and no one ever yelled.

Once they grew older, dreams of escape were supplanted by visions of victory. As they both learned to thrive in the Horde’s competitive Academy, the stories they told to each other shifted; no longer did they want to flee, but to rule. Someday, they would be Horde Lords, presiding over an unstoppable army, crushing the Rebellion and freeing Etheria from the tyranny of the princesses.

Adora can’t help but wince at the dangerous naïveté of her younger self. When Catra leans in to ask what’s wrong, Adora shakes her head and murmurs, “Later.”

As they finally head back to the ground floor of the Library, she feels her heart rate begin to increase again. Will there be any news? Will it be good or bad? It’s hard to feel anything but trepidation when everything she knows about her _own_ heritage is a disappointment. As far as she can tell, the First Ones aren’t much better than Prime, except they tried to harness magic for their own greedy purposes instead of trying to destroy it. Now that Catra’s hopes have been rekindled by Razz, Adora wants to spare her any more grief. Perfuma would probably tell her that’s unhealthy—that she should instead focus on controlling what she can control. She’s probably right about that, but easier said than done.

When they return to the alcove, Bow is bent over a map of Etheria that covers almost the entire table. At their footsteps, he raises his head with an eager smile. “Good news! I think we found something.”

“Indeed,” George agrees, never looking up from the book. “Several things, in fact.”

They sound happy and excited. For them, locating Halfmoon is a pleasant intellectual exercise. Adora glances at Catra, who has clasped her hands behind her back and is failing at trying to appear nonchalant. Adora grips the edge of the table and tries to keep her voice light.

“What is it?”

“Orko wrote almost a hundred years after Mara’s rebellion,” says George. “He notes that no magicats have been seen in three quarters of a century and that the gates to Halfmoon have all been magically sealed.”

“Gates?” Catra’s voice is hoarse. “Did he say where they are?”

“Two of the descriptions make absolutely no sense to me,” George replies. “But the third makes sense to Bow.”

“I think it’s a reference to that lone mountain at the southeastern border of the Fright Zone.” Bow taps the page with one finger.

“What?” Catra’s tail lashes the air once before she brings it under control. “The magicats have been under the Horde’s nose all along?”

“One entrance to Halfmoon has been, at any rate,” Bow says. “Though I could be wrong.”

Catra joins him to peer over his shoulder, first at the words and then at the map. Adora watches a kaleidoscope of emotions cascade across her face before she finally schools her features into blankness. She looks first to George, then to Bow. “Thank you.”

Clearly pleased, George stands. “Answering research questions is what the Library is for. I’m afraid your first question will take a bit longer to answer, however. The texts that discuss what Etheria was like before the First Ones arrived are quite old and notoriously difficult to decipher.”

“I want to go to that mountain.” Catra’s tail has calmed, but the words tremble slightly.

“Right now?” Glimmer is shaking her head. “It’ll be dark soon, and we have no plan.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling us we need to do more strategizing?” Bow adds gently.

Adora walks around the table to take Catra’s hand. It’s clammy again, and she holds on tight. “I think they’re right. Let’s stay here, as we were planning.” Silently, she wills Catra to hear what she is not saying: _You’re still not up to full strength. It’s been a weird day already. Let’s not push it._ “We can do some more research tonight. Glimmer will teleport us in the morning. Okay?”

Catra takes a deep breath, clearly in preparation for an argument… and then her shoulders sag. Slowly, she sighs. “Fine.”

Adora leans in close. “Thanks,” she whispers.

Catra seems startled by this response. After a moment, she offers a shallow nod.

“Bow?” George prompts. “Isn’t there something _else_ you’d like to say now that we’re all together again?”

Bow’s face is suddenly the color of Swift Wind’s favorite kind of apple. “Oh! Right. Um, Lance? Glimmer is m-my girlfriend.”

Lance blinks. “She wasn’t, before?”

Adora tries not to laugh. She really does. But then Catra’s lips twitch, and her own self-control disintegrates. Bow is trying to frown, but it’s not working.

“As if you two should talk!” he says, indignantly, pulling a blushing Glimmer close.

*

Adora is perched on the edge of the bed she has been assigned by Bow’s dads, working up her nerve. This is one of Bow’s brothers’ rooms—she can’t remember which one, now. It’s a pleasant, cheery space with a wide bed, a large desk, and a comfortable chair. But she is the only one in this room, and now that she and Catra are sleeping in the same bed, she absolutely refuses to spend a night without her. Especially this night, when Catra is likely feeling both physically and emotionally vulnerable.

The only problem is that Lance showed Adora to her room before Catra, so she doesn’t know which of the many doors in the corridor beyond leads to her girlfriend. And if she knocks on Lance and George’s door instead, she’s not sure she’ll be able to live down her mortification. Still, that’s a risk she has to take. With a deep breath, Adora tightens her ponytail and gets to her feet. She is never letting anything get between her and Catra again. Not even dads. She takes one step forward—

—only to be brought up short when Glimmer materializes before her.

“Oh. Adora.” Glimmer sounds disappointed.

“Um… hi? What’s up?”

“I’m trying to find Bow. How many rooms are in this damn library, anyway?” She sounds frustrated, and her hair looks as though she might have been pulling at it. Then, she cocks her head. “Are _you_ going somewhere? In your pajamas?”

“I was about to try to find Catra. I don’t know which room she’s in, either.”

For a long moment, they stand there staring at each other. As the silence grows, Adora wonders whether Glimmer and Bow have been sharing a bed like she and Catra have been. Now that she knows more about physical intimacy, she can’t help feeling a little curious. Still, it’s none of her business, and she clears her throat to wish Glimmer well on her quest to track down Bow’s whereabouts.

What comes out instead is, “Why have we never talked about sex?”

Glimmer’s eyes widen. Her mouth opens, then closes. Finally, she finds her voice. “Probably because every time I tried to bring it up, you were completely clueless?” She smirks. “Not anymore, apparently. I wonder what’s changed.”

Adora ignores both the gibe and the growing heat in her own face, every ounce of energy focused on wracking her brains. “Wait. You tried to bring it up? When?”

“Remember our voyage home after saving the Sea Gate, _years_ ago? When I asked whether you thought Mermista and Sea Hawk were doing it?”

Adora blinks at her. “Doing what?”

Glimmer throws up her hands. “That’s exactly the answer you gave me then!” she hisses. “ _Having sex_!”

“Oh! Ohhh.” Adora shakes her head, shoulders slumping. “Why am I like this?”

“I mean, it’s kind of sweet?”

Adora sits back down on the bed and buries her face in her hands. “I’m hopeless.”

Glimmer perches beside her, and pats her on the shoulder. “Obviously you’re not hopeless, since you’re _actually_ doing it. Or so I gather.”

Hearing the note of exasperation in her voice, Adora turns to face her. “You and Bow… aren’t?”

“Not yet. He wants to take it slow.”

“And you don’t?”

Glimmer sighs. “I respect him and his needs. I know that’s so important. But it’s taken us _years_ to acknowledge feelings that have been there this whole time, and now I just want…”

“Everything,” Adora whispers. She thinks of the hot warmth of Catra’s mouth on her breast, the gentle strokes of Catra’s fingers between her legs. She remembers the awe in Catra’s expression, laced with love and a possessive ferocity that sends a shiver right through her.

“Everything,” Glimmer echoes. Then, she smacks Adora’s arm. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?!”

Adora raises her hands. “Sorry! I’m sorry.”

A few moments of awkward silence pass before Glimmer speaks again. “I’m really happy for you, you know.” She offers a small smile. “For you and Catra both.”

Adora smiles back. Glimmer has been obviously supportive, but it’s still nice to hear the words. “That means a lot. Not everyone is.”

“You mean like Lance and George? Give them time.” Glimmer pats her leg. “You remember how vehemently opposed to princesses they were, right? But they still managed to change their minds. They’ll do the same when it comes to Catra.”

“I hope so. They’re being decent to her, at least.” Adora leans lightly against Glimmer. “And they’re _thrilled_ about you and Bow.”

Glimmer’s answering smile is brilliant. “Which is why I _really_ need to find his room. I want to see how he’s feeling now, after being so worried.”

Adora jostles Glimmer’s shoulder with her own. “Sure you don’t have any other reasons?”

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “This new knowledge of yours is dangerous.” Her expression becomes suddenly sly. “You know, before I teleported in here, I found Catra.”

Adora’s heart thumps hard. “You did? Can you take me to her? Please? This has been a really difficult day for her and—”

Glimmer stands and extends one hand. “Relax. I’m your best friend. It’s practically my job to help you sneak into your girlfriend’s room.”

Relieved, Adora takes it. “I just wish I could help _you_.”

“I’ll find him,” Glimmer says, steely determination lacing her voice. “I just hope I don’t find his dads, first.”

The world spins, and for an instant, all is darkness. Then, Adora finds herself standing in a room the mirror image of her own, facing a bed upon which Catra is lounging in her sleepwear, reading a book. She is so incredibly _beautiful._ Adora wants to kiss her mouth, and the stripes on her arms, and every inch of her bared midriff. She drops Glimmer’s hand and takes a step forward.

“Here’s your girlfriend,” Glimmer says dryly. “You’re welcome.”

Dimly, Adora registers the shift in air pressure that means Glimmer has teleported away.

Catra puts down her book and sits up. “Hey, Adora.” When she says it like that—warm and teasing with a hint of seduction—Adora can’t help but feel a little melty.

“Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’ here?”

“I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’m worried about you.”

Now, Catra looks away. “I’m fine.”

“Can I join you on that bed?”

“You can always join me on any bed, princess.” The seductive note is stronger this time, but it also sounds a little forced.

Adora climbs onto the mattress. She isn’t entirely sure of Catra’s mood right now, so instead of the flying tackle-hug she wants to deliver, Adora forces herself to sit crosslegged a few inches away. Slowly, she reaches out to touch Catra’s knee.

“I love you. I know you wanted to go tonight.”

Catra shrugs. “It was the right call to stay. I can see that, even if I don’t like it.”

“Okay.” Adora traces figure-eight patterns against Catra’s skin. “How are you, really?”

“Trying not to get my hopes up.” Catra exhales, then rests one hand over Adora’s, trapping her restless fingers. “I mean, what does it matter, right? Where or who I came from. They left me, or the Horde abducted me, or some combination of both, and… I became what I became. Knowing the truth won’t change that.”

Now, Adora understands. The guilt is riding Catra hard tonight, probably because of Lance and George’s reaction, and her self-worth is suffering as a result. If only She-Ra’s magic allowed her to let Catra into her mind, so she could see just how much she is loved.

“Can we lie down?” she asks quietly.

Catra’s tail twitches. “Yeah. All right.”

They lie facing each other. Catra is stiff, her breaths faster than normal. Adora brushes the hair back from Catra’s eyes, then leans in to kiss the tip of her nose. She wants to pull Catra close, but she’s almost positive that Catra would find an embrace claustrophobic right now.

“You became the person whose courage saved the universe,” Adora whispers.

Catra shakes her head. “You would have found some way. I know you would have. That’s who you _are,_ Adora.”

“No. I gave up.” It hurts Adora to say those words, but they’re the truth. She traces the slope of Catra’s jaw line with one finger. “I was convinced I’d failed.”

Catra closes her eyes but says nothing. When a teardrop manifests at the corner of each, Adora kisses them away. No more tears appear, which Adora thinks is a bad sign. Catra probably _needs_ to cry right now. Holding back emotion is something they were both trained to do, but it isn’t healthy. Still, maybe it would be best to change the subject.

“We _are_ going to get some answers for you,” she says softly. “They might be hard to hear. They might not be. But with some luck, what we find will at least help you with your magic. That would be good, right?”

Catra remains silent for a long time. Adora continues to touch her lightly, gentle strokes of her fingers alternating with soft kisses to her forehead, to the base of one ear, to the corners of her mouth. After a while, Catra’s rapid breaths begin to slow. Finally, her eyes open.

“Honestly, I don’t really want to talk about all this. I—I’m already tired of thinking about it.”

“Okay.” Adora had been rubbing Catra’s scalp, but she lets her hand fall away. The ache in her chest intensifies. “Do you want me to go?”

“What?” Catra blinks. “You really are the world’s biggest idiot if you think _that_. Come here.”

*

Catra pulls Adora close, repositioning them so they are in what is rapidly becoming her favorite configuration: Adora mostly beneath her, one of Catra’s thighs snugged into the space between Adora’s legs. Adora is looking up at her with a mix of trepidation, love, and relief. A fresh surge of guilt at this demonstration of uncertainty needles Catra, and she tries to ignore it. Adora has been nothing but supportive today—today, and pretty much always—and Catra is beyond fed up with feeling weak and vulnerable. It’s time to take back some control.

“I know I’ve been a pain this week,” she begins. Predictably, Adora shakes her head and opens her mouth to protest, but Catra lays one finger across her lips. “No. Hear me out. I don’t ever want you to think I take you for granted.”

“I don’t—mmph!”

Catra clamps her entire palm over Adora’s mouth, then leans in close. “Will you _please_ shut up and let me take care of you for a change?”

Adora’s pupils dilate. Her hips shift. It takes Catra a few seconds, but when she realizes what is happening, the sour taste of guilt in the back of her throat disappears on a riptide of _wanting._

“A-dor-a,” she sing-songs slowly. “Do you like it when I hold you down like this?”

The blush that greets these words is a deep, vivid crimson. Smiling, Catra pulls her hand away. But now that Adora can theoretically speak, she seems incapable of it. She opens her mouth, then closes it and swallows.

“Hmm? Do you?” Catra finds one of Adora’s hands and laces their fingers together, then shifts it to the side of Adora’s head. When she presses down, anchoring her to the mattress, Adora’s eyelids flutter. Baring her fangs, Catra does the same to Adora’s other hand, shifting so that her knees bracket Adora’s waist. She has pinned Adora plenty of times while they were sparring in the Fright Zone, but never has Adora melted beneath her like this, staring up at her out of dark, hazy eyes.

Catra leans in to nip at the skin of Adora’s neck, which earns her a swift intake of breath. When she swipes her tongue across Adora’s earlobe, Adora’s hips jerk beneath her. Even in her wildest dreams, she has never imagined Adora responding to her in quite this way. Confidence rushes through her, burning away the last of her self-doubt. No matter what else she has done, she can bring Adora pleasure now.

“Tell me,” Catra purrs into her ear.

“I like it.” Adora’s rasp is barely audible. “I like how you make me feel.”

Catra rewards her with a real kiss—slow and deep and thorough. The sensation of Adora yielding beneath her only amplifies her desire. Slowly, she increases the pressure of her leg against the apex of Adora’s thighs, wringing a soft cry from her throat.

Catra pulls back. “If we’re going to do this, you have to stay quiet.”

Adora nods urgently. “I will. Promise.”

“Good.” An idea takes shape in her mind—an idea she thinks they might both like, based on Adora’s reactions so far. She squeezes Adora’s fingers gently. “I’m going to take my hands away now. But I want you to keep yours right here. Can you do that for me?”

Adora’s eyes grow even darker. “Y-es.”

“Good.” Catra releases her grip, watching in satisfaction as Adora maintains the position without moving even a single inch. Now that her own hands are free, Catra wants to touch. Slowly, she pushes the hem of Adora’s tank top up, baring the ridges of her abdominal muscles one mouthwatering inch at a time. “Tell me. Do you still want what we talked about this morning?” When Adora’s breath catches, Catra smiles again. “Me, inside you?”

“Yes.” The word leaves Adora’s mouth as a reverent whisper.

A sensation sweeter than victory fills Catra, compelling her to action. She shifts until she is kneeling between Adora’s legs, then leans down to press long, sucking kisses across her abdomen. Adora’s skin is sweet and hot beneath her lip, and her panting gasps are music in Catra’s ears. When she finally reveals the perfect curves of Adora’s breasts, Catra traces every inch with her tongue before sucking one nipple deep into her mouth. The sound of Adora’s moan, muffled through clenched teeth, is everything she’s ever wanted. She glances up to the sight of Adora’s hands, still perfectly in position but now clenched into fists.

With a pop, Catra releases her. “You’re doing so well,” she murmurs. “Staying quiet. Keeping your hands in place.” She positions her mouth just above the breast she has not yet lavished with attention, then blows a warm stream of air across the tip. Adora’s answering gasp is beautiful. “I love you.”

Before Adora can say the words back, Catra swirls her tongue around the pebbled nipple, eliciting a low whine and a particularly emphatic thrust of her hips. Catra can already smell Adora’s desire, and the scent only grows stronger as she continues to tease her breasts.

Finally, Adora’s control shatters. “Please,” she murmurs brokenly. “Please touch me. Please b-be inside. Catra. Please.”

Hearing Adora beg for her touch makes Catra feel a little dizzy. “I will be. I promise.” She shifts position, curling her fingers into the waistband of Adora’s sleep shorts. “Lift up.”

As Adora arches, muscles popping into definition, Catra can’t suppress a growl. She yanks down Adora’s shorts with more force than she had intended, then makes up for it by peppering gentle kisses across the juncture between her hip and thighs. Only when Adora is squirming beneath her does Catra finally turn her attention to the place she wants to touch the most. She presses Adora’s legs even further apart, then settles between them. Gently, she plucks at the furled folds to reveal the swollen ridge of Adora’s clitoris, and lower, the entrance to her body.

A prickle of nerves pierces Catra’s arousal, and she pauses to consider her strategy. They have both read about how important lubrication is to the act of penetration. From the absolutely delicious way Adora smells right now and the shimmer of wetness coating her most sensitive skin, Catra thinks she is probably fine. Still, there is no reason not to be careful. Leaning close, she flicks the tip of her tongue across Adora’s clit.

Her reaction is incendiary: she shudders and groans, and Catra tightens her grip on Adora’s legs before going back for another taste. Before long, she is swirling her tongue—first gently, then with more firmness—and then, when Adora’s breaths turn to pants, she sucks. When a violent shudder runs through her, Catra suddenly realizes that Adora is close to having an orgasm already. The realization sends a thrill through her, and she pulls back only with reluctance.

“C-Catra, oh—” Adora’s hips surge, seeking touch. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillow, mussing her hair. The tendons in her wrists stand out from her skin as she fights to keep her hands still, and she is biting her bottom lip _hard._ When she opens her eyes to meet Catra’s, her gaze is wild and desperate.

“ _Please.”_

Catra strokes her thighs gently. Despite the ferocity of her desire, she feels only tender in the face of Adora’s trust and vulnerability.

“I’m going to go inside now. Okay?”

“ _Yes._ N-need you.”

Adora needs her. Catra’s heart thunders against her ribs, her mouth suddenly dry. She dips one finger just inside, anointing it with Adora’s wetness. Then, she traces the inner circumference of her entrance, gathering more moisture. When she looks up, Adora is looking back. Slowly, so slowly, Catra pushes _in._ Almost immediately, she encounters some resistance and pauses. Adora releases a slow, shaky breath.

“Does this hurt?” Catra asks softly. Never has she felt anything like this aching tenderness—the desire to possess Adora tempered by the need never to cause her pain.

“No. Doesn’t hurt. P-please, Catra, I want—”

Catra shifts the angle of her finger slightly, then pushes again. This time, she slides in up to her first knuckle. Adora’s body encloses her, warm and tight. The sensation is beyond incredible, and Catra only wants more. When she leans down to press a gentle kiss to Adora’s clit, her actions are greeted by a muffled cry and the _clench_ of Adora’s inner muscles. She lifts her mouth away as a new rush of wetness coats her finger.

“S-so good. Catra.”

Catra gently works her finger in a small circle, hoping to loosen the grip of the walls enclosing her. Then, she pushes again. This time, she slips in easily. Adora’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a soundless “O.” Fresh tears fill Catra’s eyes at the realization that she is _part_ of Adora now. There is no space between them—not even a single atom. They have become one.

“Adora.” Two tears fall, low on Adora’s abdomen. “I love you. I’m inside you, and I love you.”

“Feels so good,” Adora gasps. “But I want—” Her eyelids flutter. “Please, can you hold me?”

Catra hurries to oblige, though she takes pains not to jostle her right hand. Carefully, she moves up along Adora’s body, then shifts onto her side, sliding her left arm beneath Adora’s neck. Catra captures her mouth in a tender kiss.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m inside you, and you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Adora murmurs. “Always.”

Catra thinks back to what she has read—to the strategy she devised in case Adora ever allowed her to do this. When she curls the tip of her finger in a soft, stroking motion, Adora sighs and tucks her face into the curve of Catra’s neck. That’s clearly a positive reaction, and Catra presses a kiss to Adora’s forehead even as she slowly withdraws from her body. When only the tip of her finger remains, she pushes back inside.

The groan Adora releases is _not_ quiet, but Catra doesn’t care. “It doesn’t matter where you come from, or where I do,” she whispers, glorying in the incomparable feeling of Adora’s body opening to her. “What matters is this. Us.”

This time, when she reinitiates the stroking motion, Adora’s body goes rigid. She cries out once, then clamps her mouth shut.

“I love you.” Catra focuses on maintaining her slow, steady rhythm. “I love you, Adora.”

Adora’s eyes are unfocused, her breaths fast and shallow. “Catra. Oh, Catra. Please.”

Catra feels like her heart is about to pound its way out of her chest. Anything—she will give anything to tip Adora over into ecstasy. Clumsily, she brings her thumb to Adora’s clitoris, pressing lightly while maintaining her movement inside. There is a subtle fluttering sensation, and then Adora’s body clenches hard, as though trying to expel her. Catra holds firm, remaining deep inside as she continues her gentle strokes.

“Catra!”

Awe fills Catra as she hears Adora call her name, as Adora’s back bows and she shudders in the grip of passion. Magical light fills the air around her, pulsing in time with her heart. Her internal muscles spasm repeatedly, now clutching at Catra’s finger as though to hold her inside forever. As the echo of Adora's pleasure washes through her, Catra closes her eyes and luxuriates in each ripple.

Finally, the tension in Adora’s body eases. The golden nimbus fades, and she lies quiescent in Catra’s embrace. Only then does Catra still the movement of her finger. She kisses Adora’s dry lips, then nuzzles into the sweat-soaked hair at Adora’s temple where her scent is especially strong. Catra has witnessed the salvation of the universe, but _this—_ this has been her finest moment. A moment that exists only between them, only _for_ them.

“I’m going to come out now, okay?” She kisses Adora’s forehead. “Nice and slow.”

She eases out, one fraction of an inch a time. Adora’s body seems reluctant to let her go, and Catra falls in love with her all over again. Afterward, she leans over to turn off the lamp, then entwines her legs with Adora’s and pulls the covers over them.

“Need you,” Adora slurs against her neck. “Please don’t leave.”

She falls into sleep almost immediately, but Catra lies awake for a long time. It’s humbling to know that Adora’s greatest fear involves her running away. That should be terrifying. Instead, it’s a comfort.

“I’m never going to leave you,” she whispers into Adora’s hair. “No matter what. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are not acquainted with a diagram of the *entire* clitoris (not just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak), please see https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Figure-2-Deep-Clitoral-Structures-and-the-Inner-Clitoral-Complex-left-Glans-clitoris_fig2_330779088


	16. The Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Catra welcomes the opportunity to pull herself onto Melog’s back. As they ride off into the Woods, followed by a chorus of well-wishes, she tries not to think about what they are riding toward. Every time her mind so much as skirts the notion of magicats, Catra feels as though she is standing at the edge of a crumbling cliff. Somehow, she needs to try to think of this as just another stupid mission she’s joining Adora on. They have only the haziest of plans, and they have no idea how dangerous this could be, and if she can just focus on her irritation, she won’t have to deal with any other emotion."
> 
> In which Catra and Adora go off in search of magicats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have said this long before now, but thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments. They mean the world. I appreciate you all, and I hope this story can offer some modicum of happiness despite the present insanity of our world. Stay safe and stay hopeful. <3

Adora wakes with a start, certain there is someone else in the room. Heart pounding, she curls her body around Catra’s and reaches for She-Ra.

“My eyes are closed, I swear. Please don’t be having sex right now.” Glimmer’s voice halts her transformation, and Adora exhales sharply. Letting go of the magic, she reaches instead for the covers, which are tangled at the foot of the bed and not _covering_ anything at all.

“Glimmer?” She tries to make her voice sound normal, even as she fumbles with the twisted blanket. “What’s going on?”

“You _have_ to come with me, Adora. Bow’s dads have made a discovery about Etherian magic. They’re on their way to your room to tell you, which is going to be really awkward when you’re _not there._ ”

“You told Sparkles we’re having sex?” Catra’s voice is gritty with sleep. The gravelly quality of her syllables _does things_ to Adora, and for approximately half a nanosecond, her panic is drowned out by a wash of arousal. Then, she remembers that she is entirely nude from the waist down.

“Um, where are my shorts?” she asks weakly.

Glimmer groans and sticks her fingers in her ears. Catra starts to laugh. Resolutely, Adora dives under the blanket, summoning just enough of a glow to illuminate the makeshift cavern. There, crumpled near Catra’s feet, are her sleep shorts. She snags them and pulls them on hastily, then jumps out of bed.

“I’m up. I’m dressed.” When she realizes Glimmer can’t hear her, Adora seizes the opportunity to turn to Catra, who is watching her freneticism with a crooked smile. Adora remembers the _plink, plink_ of hot tears on her belly as Catra slid inside her; remembers the searing ecstasy that swept her up as Catra stroked her, inside and out. Only then does she realize that after Catra made love to her, she unceremoniously passed out. Feeling suddenly urgent, she murmurs, “I love you. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I wanted to touch you. I’m sorry.” And then, before Catra can react, she shouts, “I’m ready!”

Glimmer pulls her fingers out of her ears, opens her eyes, and glares _._ “You owe me. Both of you. And I _will_ collect.”

With an exasperated noise, she grabs Adora’s wrist, and the world spins. Adora finds herself staring at her unslept-in bed. She can dimly hear the indistinct patter of Lance and George’s approaching voices. They sound enthused.

“Get under the covers!” Glimmer hisses.

Adora dives onto the bed and worms her way under the sheets approximately one nanosecond before there is a knock at the door.

“Adora? Are you awake?” George.

“We have some exciting news to share!” Lance.

With a pointed look, Glimmer vanishes.

“Yep! Yes! Definitely awake.” Adora _purposefully_ thrashes around for once, trying to make the bed appear less unused. “Uh, come on in.”

She pulls the covers up to her chin as the door opens. Lance immediately looks contrite. “Oh, no. We didn’t wake you, did we?”

“Not at all! Trust me, I was completely awake. Just, um… meditating.”

George brightens. “I also meditate. We should compare techniques sometime.”

“Yes!” Adora hopes her panic isn’t showing. The one time she actually tried meditating, her knees kept bouncing so much that Perfuma finally suggested she might try finding her inner peace by going on a run instead.

“We made a potentially significant discovery this morning!” Lance announces. “Mostly it was George’s doing.”

“Oh, stop,” George replies, and Adora is startled to see a blush spreading across the bridge of his nose. “I would never have thought to look in the _Dactyls of Dactys_ if you hadn’t suggested it.”

Lance coughs and looks at Adora. “Well. We already knew that She-Ra predates the First Ones. Is that something you’re aware of?”

Adora nods. “Madame Razz told me.”

“What we discovered this morning,” George says, “is that the same is true of the runestones. They existed on Etheria before the First Ones arrived.”

“And just as the First Ones meddled with She-Ra, seeking to control her for their own purposes, they also meddled with the stones!” Lance concludes.

“To create the Heart.” A dull ache manifests in Adora’s chest as she remembers staring into Light Hope’s flickering, pleading eyes in the instant before she shattered the sword. That much power should never belong to only one person, or even to one planet. It belongs _everywhere,_ for the benefit of everyone.

“The releasing of the magic hasn’t changed the power of the runestones, so far as we know,” George says.

“Glimmer confirmed that for us,” Lance adds.

Adora considers the implications of what they are saying. “So this confirms that Etheria has… reverted back to its original state, essentially?”

“Its pre-First Ones state, anyway,” says George.

“Have you found any evidence of whether more people had magical abilities in pre-First Ones Etheria?” Adora asks. “More than the princesses and the sorcerers, I mean?” She has very particular reasons for asking this question, but she still thinks it’s a mistake to tell them about Catra’s power. Not that _anyone_ knows _anything_ beyond the fact that one time, she crumpled half a tank with her voice.

“Not yet,” Lance says. “But we still have so many sources to investigate!”

He sounds like Entrapta when she is facing an extraordinarily complex research question. Adora has always considered research important, but as a means to an end, not in its own right. Still, she is thankful for people like Lance and George, who are willing to employ their natural curiosity in the service of solving problems.

“Thank you for the help,” she tells them, hoping they can hear her sincerity.

“It’s our pleasure.” George smiles at her. “We’ve become rather enamored of helping the Rebellion.”

Adora decides not to point out that they aren’t exactly the Rebellion, anymore. No need to burst his bubble.

“We’ll let you get dressed.” Lance turns toward the door. “George is going to make waffles for breakfast!”

When they leave, Adora sighs and lets her eyes drift shut. For just a few moments, she sinks into the sheets and allows herself to remember Catra pinning her hands to the mattress, the soft heat of Catra’s tongue between her legs, the exquisite stroking _inside_ that rocketed her toward ecstasy. She wants to touch Catra that way. She wants Catra to be inside her again. She wants and _wants,_ and occasionally, though she’d never say it out loud, she has been secretly wishing they could just… run away from their responsibilities for a little while. This thought always feels selfish, but every time it occurs to her, she also hears Mara’s voice telling her she is worth more than what she can give to others. Now, she hears Catra’s voice, too.

_It doesn’t matter where you come from, or where I do. What matters is this. Us._

With a sigh, Adora levers herself into a sitting position, then pauses before her feet can hit the floor. Maybe someday, she and Catra can find the chance to be together, just the two of them, for more than a few hours at a time. For now, they have important questions to answer. Important plans to make. And they’ll do it _together,_ which she will never take for granted again.

*

Catra tells George that his waffles are the best she’s ever had, because she is _trying._ They are also the only waffles she’s ever had—the Bright Moon chefs favor pancakes, probably because they are easier to produce in bulk—so it’s not technically a lie. After she says it, Sparkles raises an eyebrow, Bow looks like he might explode, and Adora positively _beams_ at her. George looks up from his breakfast and meets her gaze for once in his life.

“Thank you, Catra. It was my own father’s recipe, handed down.”

He is speaking _to her._ Catra feels stupidly accomplished, which is when she’s absolutely certain she has turned the corner into _soft_. Next to her, Adora reaches for her third waffle in as many minutes. Catra desperately wants to poke fun at her, but that’s probably not mature, and Bow’s dads seem to appreciate maturity. This whole “trying to impress dads” insanity is exhausting. A tiny voice in the back of her mind is asking why she’s making an effort at all. It’s not like they’re _Adora’s_ dads. She doesn’t _need_ them to like her.

She just… wants it. Ugh.

“So,” Glimmer says briskly when Adora finally puts down her fork. “I’m teleporting you to that spot on the border of the Fright Zone?”

Adora looks to Catra. “I was thinking I’d call Swifty, and we can ride there instead? He could use the exercise.”

Catra hears the question she didn’t ask: _Are you up for teleportation_? In all honesty, she isn’t. Who knows what they’ll find once they start poking around near this hidden magical gate thing, and she’d rather not be suffering from a crippling headache or the inability to open her eyes in the daylight. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you mind checking on us in a few hours?” Adora asks Glimmer.

“You can bring them back for lunch!” Lance adds.

When Glimmer gives him a cheery smile and tells him it would be her pleasure, Catra very nearly surrenders to the impulse to stick her finger in her mouth and make a gagging noise. It’s a real struggle, and she latches on to Adora’s hand beneath to table to reduce the temptation. Adora seems a little flustered by this unexpected contact; she ducks her head, then offers Catra a shy look through her eyelashes. Which, Catra has just now realized, are dark at the roots but blonde at the tips, as though they have been frosted with sunlight. Adora’s eyes are bright, their pupils slowly expanding. Catra remembers how they looked last night—dark pools surrounded only by a nimbus of blue. She remembers the way Adora’s body tightened around her touch, and the soft fluttering that gripped her finger, and the sharp cry that greeted her soft stroking inside. _Again_. She wants Adora like that again, right now, forever.

“So, Adora!” Bow says loudly, and only then does Catra realize they are staring at each other like lovesick fools. “Are you going to communicate with Swift Wind through your sacred bond? I bet my dads would be really interested to see how that works.”

“We would!” George agrees eagerly.

Adora blinks and her spine stiffens, though she does not let go of Catra’s hand. “Oh, um, sure! Of course.”

As a golden aura of light surrounds her, Catra wants to roll her eyes, but she knows Adora isn’t putting on some kind of show for her own benefit—she’s just trying to make people happy, as usual. It suddenly dawns on Catra that the same principle is true of Adora’s combat prowess. Unlike herself, Adora doesn’t _enjoy_ fighting. Shadow Weaver expected her to be good at it, and so she worked hard to fulfill that expectation. Fundamentally, though, she is conflict-averse. Perhaps, now that the war is over, she can fully embrace those deep desires to heal and to build. Catra silently commits to helping her try.

“Okay,” Adora says. “He’s on his way.”

They fetch their knapsacks from their rooms—it’s important to be prepared for anything, after all—then head to the front steps of the Library to wait. The day is pleasantly warm, with a light breeze that ruffles Catra’s hair. Melog emerges from the Woods, then curls up on her feet.

She scratches between their ears, under their chin. “How was your night?”

As usual, Melog replies in a mixture of telepathic images and commentary. They spent the night in the company of some herbivore dinosaurs that also appear to play some role in the pollination of magic among certain plant species. Melog doesn’t fully understand the _how_ , yet, but Catra decides to pass on this knowledge to Lance and George. No doubt they’ll find it fascinating, and it might even be useful.

“You can _understand_ that thing?” George says incredulously, when she has finished.

Catra’s hackles rise on a swell of anger, and her tail lashes the stone steps. The boiling rage sluicing through her bones is strangely comforting in its familiarity. As she turns to confront him, Melog stands, their aura shifting into crimson. Catra opens her mouth to snarl, when the sudden warmth of Adora’s palm against the small of her back completely derails her train of thought. Throughout three years of spitting fury and mental breakdowns, she was never offered this kind of comfort, and its presence now is a shock.

Except that’s a lie. Scorpia offered it, repeatedly. Scorpia, whom she repeatedly pushed away. The realization is like a laser blast, pain blossoming in its wake.

“Melog isn’t actually a _thing_ ,” Adora is saying mildly. “They are an ancient magical entity from the planet Krytis, and they’ve bonded with Catra. She is the only one who can understand them.”

Still spiraling, Catra watches mutely as George bows in Melog’s direction. Adora’s hand begins to rub in slow circles.

“I do apologize, Melog. I intended no offense—my phrasing was poor. You and Catra both are always welcome in the Library.”

Melog’s mane lies flat again, and gradually, their aura begins to blueshift. Catra focuses on Adora’s touch, allowing it to anchor her to the present. Yes, she was awful to Scorpia. Yes, she has apologized. Yes, she has been forgiven—but yes, she also _clearly_ has more work to do. She was angry for a long time, and for much of that time, the anger gave her strength. It’s justifiably hard to let go of. Redemption is not an impossible task—it only feels that way sometimes. She almost backslid just now, but _almost._

“Thank you,” she says hoarsely.

George actually _smiles_ at her.

“Good morning, intrepid travelers!” The optimistic heartiness of Swift Wind’s shout makes Catra’s ears pin back instinctually. He lands prancing, then strikes a ridiculous pose. “I have arrived, prepared for a bold new adventure!”

Adora kisses Catra’s cheek, then rises. “Swifty! These are Bow’s dads.”

Catra watches Lance and George fawn all over Swift Wind, calling him “She-Ra’s sacred steed” and “a majestic creature.” Melog is pressed to her legs, purring almost inaudibly. The soft rumble lulls Catra’s heart rate into slow steadiness.

“You’re plenty majestic too,” she mutters. Melog’s ears twitch.

“We’d better get moving,” Adora says finally. “Who knows how long it will take us to find and open this gate?”

Catra welcomes the opportunity to pull herself onto Melog’s back. As they ride off into the Woods, followed by a chorus of well-wishes, she tries not to think about what they are riding _toward._ Every time her mind so much as skirts the notion of _magicats,_ Catra feels as though she is standing at the edge of a crumbling cliff. Somehow, she needs to try to think of this as just another stupid mission she’s joining Adora on. They have only the haziest of plans, and they have no idea how dangerous this could be, and if she can just focus on her irritation, she won’t have to deal with any other emotion.

Catra’s commitment to scowling at everything lasts until they have traveled about a quarter of a mile into the forest, well out of sight of the Library, at which point Adora turns to her with the same mischievous gleam that always landed them in hot water as children.

“Wanna race?”

Melog’s ears perk as the challenge halts Catra’s emotional spiral. If Adora wants to race, then the game is _on._ No way is she going to back down. “Are you kidding, princess?” Reading her thoughts, Melog surges ahead, catching Swift Wind flat-footed.

“Not fair!” Adora shouts in her wake. “And we didn’t set a finish line!”

Catra grins and silently urges Melog to run even faster. She and Adora have always been competitive, but it’s even better this way, with no end in sight and no one judging them on their relative performance. Now, they can race for the joy of it, knowing that no matter who wins, there will be kisses on the other side. In her peripheral vision, the sight of a rainbow blur prompts her to lean forward over Melog, gripping their shoulders tightly between her knees. Exhilaration sings through her, and she whoops loudly as Melog vaults over a fallen log.

“To that boulder!” Adora yells, pointing to the massive rock several hundred feet ahead as she and Swift Wind draw alongside.

In the end, it’s a draw, white and blue muzzles flashing past the granite outcropping in parallel. As their mounts slow, Catra feels herself grinning widely. She pats Melog’s neck, then catches Adora’s eye. She is smiling too, and wisps of hair have escaped her ponytail to frame her face. Catra’s heart lurches in her chest, but the pain that used to accompany that sensation is blessedly absent. She can’t ever imagine taking this for granted.

“You’re looking at me funny,” Adora protests. “ _I’m_ not the one who cheated!”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I—what?” Adora’s smile changes, gaining a dazed, dazzling edge.

As Melog slows to a walk, Catra reaches out to touch the part of Adora she can reach, stroking along her taut calf muscle. She squeezes lightly, because she wants to and she can. “You are. But don’t let it go to your big dumb glowing head.”

Adora laughs softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

Hearing an echo of her own thought emerge from Adora’s mouth is highly gratifying, but Catra still needs to know they’re really on the same page. “Get used to what?”

“Being able to tell you I love you. Being able to kiss you and… and other things. Hearing you say I’m… you know.”

Catra rolls her eyes at this entirely predictable display of bashfulness. For someone who can transform into an eight-foot-tall magical warrior goddess who radiates confidence, Adora is remarkably insecure. “You are _so_ ‘you know.’ You are the most ‘you know’ person I’ve ever met.”

“Just stop.”

“I will _never._ ” With one more squeeze, Catra lets go.

For a while, they ride in comfortable silence. Catra is grateful that their gallop sapped enough of Swift Wind’s hot air that he isn’t being a chatterbox. Around them, the Woods are alive with cacophonous birdsong, the air perfumed by multiple species of large flowers. She can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt when she remembers just how much of the forest she destroyed, but thanks to She-Ra’s magic, the Woods have become more lush and verdant than ever. When Melog rumbles in quiet agreement with this thought, Catra exhales slowly, trying to let go of the regret.

“About last night,” Adora says. “I really am sorry I fell asleep.”

Catra meets her earnest eyes. “It’s fine. I mean it. That was what I wanted—I told you as much, earlier in the day.”

Adora’s brows draw down. “You didn’t want me to, ah, reciprocate?”

Of course, Adora’s worrywart brain would jump to the worst possibility. “I _do._ But in that moment, I was content, okay? I don’t feel neglected or anything.”

Adora blows out a sigh. “Good. That’s good. I just don’t want to be selfish. Or for you to think I don’t want you.”

 _Adora wants me._ The thought still makes Catra feel a little dizzy, though she pulls herself together enough to flash her fangs in a smug smile. “Oh, princess. Don’t you fret. I know you do. And you’ll have your chance to show me.”

“I will be _ready._ ” Adora pledges fervently.

“So, I want to get back to my question from this morning,” Catra says, taking preemptive delight in how much this will make Adora squirm. “ _Why_ did you decide to tell Sparkles we’re having sex?”

Adora’s ears practically burst into flame. “Catra! Swift Wind doesn’t know.”

“Well, he does now. Serves you right. And you seriously think he couldn’t infer it from what we were just discussing? Besides, Melog _obviously_ knows. Why should Swift Wind be left out?”

“Catra makes an excellent point,” Swift Wind says. It’s the first time he’s ever said her name, and while he still has never directed a sentence _to_ her, she’ll take it as a sign of progress. “Sex is a normal and healthy part of life, Adora,” he continues. “No need to be self-conscious. We _do_ have a sacred bond, and I would certainly never judge consensual intimacy between adu—”

“Okay! Okay.” Adora scrubs her rapidly reddening face with one palm. “Swifty, uh, thank you for your support. As for Glimmer… I _didn’t._ I was just—well, she teleported into my room last night when I was about to try to find you, and she said she was trying to find Bow, and that made me wonder whether they’re, you know, um, having sex, and then I was suddenly asking her why she and I had never talked about it. She put the pieces together from there. I swear I didn’t _mean_ to.” Adora finally meets her gaze. “Are you mad?” she asks in a small voice.

“Nah. More amused than anything else. Now that you’re not oblivious, you really can’t keep your mouth shut about it.”

Adora surprises her with a grin. “Well, it _is_ pretty amazing.”

Catra is about to tease Adora into elaborating, when the forest abruptly ends. They pause, surveying the horizon. A narrow strip of land dotted with low shrubs gives way to a shallow, rocky slope that forms the base of the lone mountain to which Bow was pointing on the map. Its facets are jagged, precipitous cliffs. It would be unscalable without equipment, and the Horde never paid it any mind except as an obstacle to be trekked around.

Every thought Catra has been trying to avoid comes crashing down. It’s suddenly impossible to swallow or take a deep breath. What are they about to find? What if it’s horrible? What if it’s nothing?

Warm pressure on her thigh, Adora’s whisper in her ear. “Hey. We’re going to figure this out together, Catra. I love you.”

_I love you._

Catra blinks, breathes, coughs. Her eyes are stinging. “Yeah.”

“Let’s start by riding around the base of the mountain and looking for anything suspicious or strange.” Adora gently strokes the fabric just above her knee. “How’s that for a plan?”

“Sure.”

Melog is purple now, precariously balanced between peaceful blue and the crimson aura that signals Catra’s alarm. She tries to take deep, consistent breaths, but her heart is pounding erratically. Swift Wind picks his way slowly through the jagged shale, and Melog finds the terrain uncomfortable, too. The place is desolate—even She-Ra’s botanical explosion didn’t find a roothold here. As the thought enters her mind, Catra realizes it might be significant.

“Hey. It’s weird that there are no plants here, right? Even the Fright Zone is covered in them.”

Adora frowns. “Good point. That gives me an idea.” She slides down Swift Wind’s withers, and as she touches the ground, she begins to glow. A moment later, She-Ra is crouching there, one hand pressed to the rough ground. The aura surrounding her pulses once, and Catra shields her eyes.

“Something is blocking the Heart’s magic from taking root.”

“That sounds… bad.” Catra remembers all too well just how powerful the Heart was. Whatever is blocking it must also be incredibly potent. And dangerous.

She-Ra stands and shrugs. “Powerful doesn’t necessarily mean bad. Let’s keep tracing the perimeter.”

As Melog follows Swift Wind, She-Ra doesn’t transform back. Catra remains vigilant as they ride, scanning the terrain on either side for any hidden threat or anomaly. The fact that she doesn’t see so much as a snake or a rodent makes her tail bristle. For once, she doesn’t try to calm it.

“What is _that_ doing there?”

When She-Ra slides off Swift Wind again, Catra sees what her giant poofy head was concealing: a large black crag protruding from the mountain’s base like a tree trunk. Its gleaming surface is vaguely reflective, and the material it is made from matches none of the plentiful rocks on the ground, nor the cliffs above them.

As She-Ra walks toward it, Catra slips off Melog and hurries to join her. She-Ra is just starting to extend her hand when Catra reaches her and grabs her arm.

“Oh, no. No touching the creepy stone.”

She-Ra frowns down at her. It’s just not fair how tall she is. “Why not?”

“Because we have no idea what touching it will do. Here.” Catra picks up a rock and tosses it at the crag. When it bounces off harmlessly, she sighs, almost disappointed that the stone didn’t disappear or sizzle into nothingness. There will be no holding She-Ra back, now. “Fine. Have at it, I guess. But if you even _think_ about doing anything even remotely sacrificial, I will never speak to you again.”

She-Ra blinks down at her with a very Adora-like expression. “I’m going to send a pulse of magic into the rock to see if the gate that’s here somewhere will open. No sacrificing. Promise.”

“My threat stands.” Catra sinks into a crouch as She-Ra reaches toward the crag. Just in case.

This time, the nimbus surrounding She-Ra is so dazzling that Catra’s eyes water even after she looks away. When the brightness fades, nothing has changed, except that She-Ra is… pouting.

“Whatever this is, it absorbed everything I threw at it. Like some kind of black hole.”

Catra grabs She-Ra’s hand again and hauls her several feet backward. Entrapta has explained black holes, and they sound genuinely terrifying. “What now?”

She-Ra’s thumb runs gently over Catra’s knuckles as she bites her lip in thought. As Catra looks on, she is suddenly ambushed by a thought: what would it feel like to kiss her? She has never particularly _liked_ She-Ra—in a very real sense, She-Ra stole Adora away from her—and yet the thought of rising up onto her toes and claiming the mouth of Adora’s other self is suddenly _more_ than appealing.

“I know!” She-Ra brightens. “My magic didn’t work, but yours might. Try roaring at it.”

Catra feels as though she has been doused in cold water. “What?”

“I never got to hear it the first time. And it might actually work. What if the gate can only be activated by _magicat_ magic?”

“Okay, but I don’t know how.” Catra looks between the crag and She-Ra. “I didn’t mean to do it. When it happened, I screamed but… that’s not what came out.”

“Just try. There’s no one nearby to hear you.”

That much is true—they are completely alone, save for Melog and Swift Wind. Catra rolls her eyes and takes one cautious step forward. “This is stupid. It’s not going to work.” Battling down a wave of self-consciousness, she focuses on the gleaming rock, takes a deep breath, and screams with all the force of her fear, insecurity, and latent rage.

It’s an impressive scream—she’ll give herself that. But it’s not a roar. And now she feels like a moron. Hands on her hips, she whirls to face She-Ra.

“I told you it wouldn’t work!”

“I wonder why,” She-Ra says, frowning again. “Let’s think. What was special about the moment before the roar happened?”

Catra can feel her blood pressure rising. “Special? Oh, I don’t know. What was _special_ was the fact that you were _unconscious_ because you refused to hide from the tanks like the rest of us, and one more blast was going to _kill—_ ”

There is a curious liquid sound behind her. She-Ra’s eyes have gone very wide. Catra turns in just enough time to see a figure step out of the space where the crag used to be. Around the entity’s feet, a black pool bubbles like a cauldron, then suddenly re-constitutes itself into jagged rock. The figure takes another step toward them, and another. He is wearing a uniform: green and gold, with several rank insignias pinned to his breast. His hair is bronze, broken only by a diamond-shaped patch of white between his ears.

His ears.

Catra stares. For the first time in her life, she is looking at someone who looks like her. Behind her, Melog mewls quietly.

“She-Ra,” the magicat says in disgust. “Do you bring a new offer of truce from your masters?”

“My… masters?”

“Do not play coy with me! Have you brought me this hostage as a bargaining chip?”

It takes Catra a few seconds, but she eventually realizes that Mr. Magicat thinks she is Adora’s prisoner. The idea is so ridiculous that she forgets to be afraid.

“ _Her_ hostage? Please. She never managed to capture me. Now who the hell are you?”

The magicat puffs out his chest. “I am Sir Tao, master of Her Royal Highness’s guard!”

Now that Catra has started laughing at this self-important buffoon, she can’t seem to stop. “Are you kidding me? The magicats are ruled by a princess, too?”

“Curb your insolent tongue!” Sir Tao bellows. “Her Majesty is _queen_ of all magicats!”

“You’re exactly who we’ve been hoping to find,” She-Ra says, a placating note in her voice. “You might not realize this, but the war is over, and the Heart’s magic has been released. As soon as we learned about your existence, Catra and I set out to find you. She’s never known where she comes from, and we’re hoping—”

“ _Catra_?” Sir Tao sneers. “What decent person would name a magicat _Catra_?”

Catra’s bravado leaves her all in a rush. She looks at She-Ra, whose eyes are wide and blue and filled with pain and sorrow. “But that’s what I na—”

Sir Tao leaps forward, closing one hand around Catra’s shoulder. In the next instant, she is being hauled backward. Before she can so much as unsheathe her claws, a low, gurgling sound envelopes her.

“ _Catra!_ ”

The agony in Adora’s scream pierces her heart as darkness folds itself around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Tao is a real fella: https://he-man.fandom.com/wiki/Sir_Tao


	17. Save the Cat (Redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Adora throws herself against the stone, her mind a blizzard of panic. Her hands scrabble against its sheer surfaces, searching out some niche, some hidden lever, anything that might allow her to activate the gate. The prospect of being swallowed up by the liquid rock is distantly terrifying, but being unable to reach Catra is far, far worse."
> 
> In which everyone tries to convince the magicats that Adora isn't evil, and intriguing details about Madame Razz's past come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a struggle for a while, and the beginning of the spring semester has been extra intense. I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. Thank you for your patience, and special thanks to all who have commented on previous chapters! Your feedback means the world, and I'll do my best to reply soon. :) Stay safe!

As Catra’s eyes adjust, pinpricks of light materialize in the darkness, resolving into torches hung at regular intervals along the length of a broad corridor. Sir Tao’s hand is still on her shoulder, and she wrenches away from him with a hiss. Adora’s scream still echoes in her ears. She has to get out of here _—_ wherever that is—and back to _her._ But when she turns, she is met by a solid black wall. Growling, she pushes against it. When that has no effect, she rakes her claws across it, fully intending to cut herself a door as she did back on Krytis.

Her claws skitter across the surface harmlessly, sparks trailing in their wake. A prickle of fear raises her hackles even higher. With another hiss, she turns back to Sir Tao.

“What did you do to me! Where are we?”

“I rescued you from your captor,” he says stiffly. “You should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” Catra spits. “You didn’t rescue me—you _abducted_ me from my _girlfriend_!”

“Girl-friend?” Sir Tao’s expression is blank, the word clearly unfamiliar in his mouth.

Catra points behind her with one arm. Her entire body is shaking with rage. “I don’t know and I don’t care what magicats call the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, but the woman out there is _my person,_ and I am _not_ getting separated from her again. Now. Let. Me. _Go_.”

At this, Sir Tao draws himself up, his face a mask of horror. “You have taken the She-Ra as your _mate_?”

This question hits Catra like a blunt object. There isn’t so much as a shred of doubt in her mind that Adora is her mate, but Tao’s use of “She-Ra” as a title feels significant. Gritting her teeth, she tries to _think_ through the howling storm of her rage.

“Adora. The one who becomes She-Ra. _She_ is my mate.”

“No self-respecting magicat would ever mate with a First One!” Tao growls. “She must have swayed you with her spells.”

Catra wants to scream. “She didn’t _sway_ me, you pompous moron. You have it all backward. The First Ones are _gone._ Adora might be the only one left in the whole universe. They had abandoned this planet for centuries before the Horde showed up.”

Beneath his fur, Tao goes pale. “Horde Prime found this place?”

Catra might be trying to reform, but she can’t help feeling a sting of pleasure at his discomfort. “You know Prime, huh? Yeah. Me, too. But he’s gone now. Defeated. _By my mate._ And all the magic the First Ones were trying to use is now floating around the planet making me sneeze. How do you not _know this_?”

A flash of uncertainty crosses Tao’s face. “We have been in hiding ever since the First Ones’ plot to convert this planet into a weapon was revealed.”

“But that was a thousand years ago! You’re telling me no magicat has gone to the surface in all that time?” A sudden thought pierces the protective armor of her anger. “How am _I_ here, then?”

“There have always been comrades who chafe against our voluntary exile and choose to leave it.” There is a note of sadness in Tao’s voice that Catra doesn’t want to acknowledge. ”None have ever returned.”

It takes Catra a moment to connect the dots. If her _parents_ were among those Tao mentioned, they left this admittedly impressive fortress because they couldn’t stand the claustrophobia, then dared to have a child. Presumably, whatever plans they had backfired when the Horde got to them. Catra doesn’t know whether to feel sympathetic or outraged.

“We have lingered here long enough.” Tao’s voice cuts through the tangled mess of her thoughts. “Come with me. I must bring you before Minister Cloudfoot and the Queen’s Council immediately.”

Catra needs answers, but she also needs Adora not to panic. Which she is undoubtably doing right now _._ “Yeah, fine, I’ll go see your council. But first, I need to explain what’s happening to Adora.”

Tao grimaces. “The very notion of a magicat ever having to explain themselves to a First One is _abhorrent_.”

“Will you get over it!” Catra bellows. The anger is winning, and it feels good _._ “The last time I was held prisoner, it was by Prime. Adora barged into his flagship and fought dozens of his creepy clones to get me out. Is that what you want?”

“Halfmoon’s defenses have held against the First Ones before. They will again.” Tao’s words are firm, but he is visibly agitated. She’s clearly hit a nerve, and she’s not about to pull punches, now.

“She-Ra isn’t the enemy! She saved literally everything, which you would know if you weren’t skulking underground like cowards!”

Tao takes a menacing step toward her. “How dare you call me a coward?”

Catra sinks into a combative stance. No way is she going to let him bully her—he might be taller, but he’s sporting a paunch beneath that fancy uniform, and she’s certain she will be quicker. “Prove me wrong. Come with me and hear what she has to say.”

Instead, Tao rests his palm on an oblong metallic object at his side. When he raises his hand, a crimson beam pierces the air, as though the weapon is a sword made of light.

“You are coming with me, _Catra,_ ” he snarls.

It’s the disdain for her name that tips her over the edge. Adora gave her that name when she was barely two years old. “My Catra” is the first sentence Catra remembers understanding. Adora named her, stood up for her, cared for her. Loved her, even if she didn’t realize it at the time.

The rage is a towering flame inside her. As she breathes in, her throat burns with power. In a flash of clarity, Catra realizes that when she exhales, the power will leave her in a roar. Time slows. She balances wanting to hurt Sir Tao with the new moral compass she has been working so hard to internalize. Tao isn’t Prime—he is ignorant, not cruel. _We don’t knock people out unless we have to_. She needs to handle him, not hurt him.

“Shut _up,”_ she whispers vehemently.

The words leave her mouth with concussive pressure, knocking Tao off his feet with enough force to send him sliding several body-lengths down the corridor. Catra swallows hard, heart racing. Was even _that_ too much? She had tried to keep the magic leashed. Once, she would have exulted in holding this kind of power. Now, it terrifies her in more ways than one.

Tao struggles to his knees, scrabbling for his sword. Awe and fear blend in the set of his mouth as he crouches, wincing. Catra hopes her relief isn’t obvious. Since Prime, her poker face isn’t what it used to be.

“Extinguish that thing,” she says, grateful when the words emerge normally. She can still feel the magic tickling the back of her throat, but so far, ignoring it is working. “Toss the hilt on the ground.”

Tao does what she asks, which is highly gratifying. “Who trained you to control the Roar?”

Catra can hear the capital letter. Clearly, he’s familiar with this power, though he doesn’t appear to have it himself, or he likely would have used it by now. She has a brief internal debate about whether to lie before deciding the truth is far more terrifying.

“No one. That’s only the second time I’ve done it. I’m flying blind.”

Tao’s face is positively _ashen,_ and his swallow is visible. “I… see.”

“Yeah, I think you do see. So take me back to Adora. Now.”

Tao straightens, trepidation giving way to resolve. “To do so would be to betray my queen. You’ll have to kill me, first—and even then, you won’t know how to open the gate.”

Catra snarls. She wants to knock him down again, especially because he’s right. If she can’t get back to Adora, that means the only way out is through. In the meantime, she _knows_ Adora will be trying to find a way in.

“Fine. But you’re not taking me to your stupid council. I’m going to have a conversation _directly_ with the queen. Got it?”

Tao hesitates, then finally nods.

Without looking away from him, Catra unbuckles her belt. “Turn around, hands behind your back.”

He curls his lip and begrudgingly obliges. She darts forward quickly, fearing he’ll make a lunge for the sword before she can bind his wrists. He makes a sound of displeasure as she pulls the leather taut, and Catra allows herself to enjoy that, too.

“Start walking.”

*

Adora throws herself against the stone, her mind a blizzard of panic. Her hands scrabble against its sheer surfaces, searching out some niche, some hidden lever, _anything_ that might allow her to activate the gate. The prospect of being swallowed up by the liquid rock is distantly terrifying, but being unable to reach Catra is far, far worse.

“Adora!” Swift Wind’s shout is accompanied by the firm nudge of his muzzle against her shoulder. “ _Stop._ You’re bleeding.”

Only then does Adora feel the sting in her hands. She releases the rock and looks down to the sight of red ribbons flowing down her palms. With a thought, the wounds close.

What if Catra is wounded? What if, right now, Sir Tao is hurting her? The thought tears a groan from her throat. Then, epiphany strikes: _Melog._ Melog always knows how Catra is feeling, even if they are apart. She spins, finding Melog flanking Swift Wind. Their aura is a vivid, throbbing red.

“Is she hurt, Melog?” When they shake their head, Adora drops to her knees and wraps her arms around Melog’s neck. “You’re sure? She’s okay?” At Melog’s affirmative trill, Adora buries her face in their mane. She has no idea whether Catra can _feel_ this, or whether their bond only works in one direction. Regardless, Melog is all she has left of Catra right now, and she clings to them with all the force of her desperation.

When Melog snuffles against her neck, Adora releases her grip and sits back on her heels. She looks between them and Swift Wind. “I don’t know what to do,” she confesses. “My magic doesn’t seem to work on the gate. How do I get to her?”

Swift Wind’s ears twitch. “Maybe the Sorcerers’ Gui—” He shies away in clear alarm as Melog’s shape begins to blur, elongating and shifting into a translucent depiction of…

“Razz?” Adora blinks up at the really quite realistic image of Madame Razz, Broom in hand.

“What are they _doing_?” Swift Wind shouts.

Adora stands. “Relax, Swiftie. I’ve seen this before. Melog, are you trying to tell us that Razz can help?”

Melog’s aura collapses in on itself as they revert to their feline form. When they mew decisively, Adora nods. It’s not a bad plan. Razz was the one who told them about the existence of magicats, after all. She has seen them before—even talked to them, presumably. Maybe she can think of a way to breach their fortress.

“Swiftie, take me to Razz as fast as you can. Melog… stay here and keep watch, but _please_ be careful. I can’t lose you, too.”

She vaults onto Swift Wind’s back, and he leaps into the air. Within seconds, they are arrowing toward the Whispering Woods. Adora turns around to watch the jagged peak of the mountain receding. _Catra._ Her heart aches, and she presses one palm to the sore spot between her breasts as Swift Wind skims the treetops. It has been less than a day since Catra covered her with kisses—less than one day since Catra slid slowly and carefully _inside._ Now, she is… gone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell Glimmer before Razz?” Swift Wind shouts over the wind of his own making. “Maybe her magic can help!”

Belatedly, Adora remembers that he was trying to make a point about the Sorcerers’ Guild before Melog transformed. Glimmer’s magic is entirely different from hers, and it might be efficacious against the magicats. Besides, she will be able to enlist the help of her dad, her aunt, and many other powerful sorcerers.

“Good idea,” Adora calls. “Library first!”

As Swift Wind veers to the west, Adora tightens the grip of her knees on his withers. Minutes later, he swoops into a landing that deposits her mere feet from the Library’s staircase. She slides from his back, takes all the steps in one leap, then bangs on the door so hard that its hinges creak ominously.

“Glimmer!”

She only has to wait seconds before Glimmer appears on the landing next to her. “Adora? Why are you She-Ra? Where’s Catra? What happened?”

“A magicat _abducted_ her and my power is useless!” Adora feels She-Ra flicker as despair crashes over her. Steeling her resolve, she pushes back agains the wave of dread. “I need your help.”

“You found the magicats?”

Adora nods. “They’re stuck in the past. To them, She-Ra is a threat. Melog says I need to go to Razz, but I wanted to come here first. Maybe your magic can help?”

Glimmer reaches up on tiptoe to grab her shoulders. “Adora. Slow down. Take a deep breath, then tell me everything that happened once you got to that mountain.”

The idea of slowing down prompts another surge of panic. Tears prick Adora’s eyes, and she nearly loses her grasp on She-Ra again. “We don’t have _time._ What if they’re hurting her!”

“We’ll get her. We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again.” Glimmer tightens her grip. “But there’s a lot we don’t know, and we need a good plan. So start talking.”

By the time Adora has finished, Bow and his dads have joined them. As they encircle her, focused and concerned, she takes strength from their silent support. “I don’t know why Melog wants me to get Razz, but that’s my next stop.”

Glimmer purses her lips. “Okay. So we’re dealing with a species—a culture—that’s been hiding on Etheria for a millennium and has some very old-fashioned ideas. I think we need the entire Princess Alliance for this. And my dad.”

“George and I will try to find more information on magicats,” Lance chimes in. “Orko can’t be the only source that mentions them.”

Adora knows they were suspicious of Catra at first and likely are still. Even so, they are willing to help her. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she thanks them, then turns back to Glimmer. “I need to go,” she says, a little hoarsely. Having relived the awful memory of Catra being swallowed by the eerie, liquified stone, she is itching for action. “Meet you at the mountain.”

She steps away, then leaps from the stairs to Swift Wind. As they rise, Bow hollers for her to be careful. Adora waves her acknowledgment as Swift Wind surges through the tree canopy. As he flies unerringly southward, Adora allows herself to hope. With their powers combined, the Princess Alliance is formidable, and Micah’s knowledge of magic is potentially even more valuable. Surely, together they will find a way to work around the magicats’ defenses. They _have_ to.

In mere minutes, Swift Wind is descending once again to alight before the mouth of the familiar cave. Adora is calling Razz’s name before her feet touch the ground. When she pushes the curtain aside, she is greeted by the sight of Razz in a rocking chair, cupping a steaming mug.

“Adora! It’s been so long!” Razz’s blinking eyes are magnified by her spectacles. “Why are you so tall?”

“Because this is an emergency.” Adora kneels before Razz, then clasps her hands. “We found the magicats, but one of them abducted Catra. Melog thinks you can help.”

Razz frowns and sets aside her cup. “Which one? Was it Percival? I will have words with him!”

“No, his name was Tao. Sir Tao.”

“He thought Adora was being controlled by the First Ones!” Swift Wind adds, poking his head into the cave.

“Those nincompoops!” Razz stands and reaches for Broom. “Take me to them.”

Adora wants to trust Melog, but the more she considers this plan, the crazier it sounds. “Are you sure? You last saw them a thousand years ago, right? Do you think any magicat alive still remembers you?”

Razz cocks her head. “What are you talking about, Adora? I just saw a magicat yesterday!”

Only when they are soaring above the tree-tops, Razz cackling as she clutches She-Ra’s cape, does Adora realize that Razz isn’t time-skipping. She is referring to Catra. The epiphany forces her to blink back sudden tears. It’s been barely more than a day since they learned Catra is a magicat. It’s been barely more than half that time since Adora learned to crave Catra’s touch _inside._

She cannot lose her now. She can’t. Adora stares resolutely toward the horizon, willing the jagged mountain to appear. She _won’t._

*

This has been a very strange and unsettling day, but what might be oddest of all is how few magicats exist in Halfmoon. As Tao presumably leads her to the queen, Catra scans the entrance of each corridor they pass, alert to the possibility that he might have triggered some silent alarm. No one appears until they descend a spiraling ramp that deposits them in a narrow atrium. Two rows of guards stand with light-swords raised, preventing her access to the massive double doors at the far end of the room. Catra doesn’t even try to suppress the lashing of her tail as adrenaline pours into her blood. She is well and truly trapped. A wave of claustrophobia crashes over her. She wants _out_ —out of this underground city, and back to the world above. Back to Adora.

Sir Tao looks smug. “The moment the She-Ra set foot on our land, we prepared for battle.”

Catra remembers Adora dismounting and crouching down to inspect the earth, becoming She-Ra in the process. Her magic pouring into the ground must have alerted the magicats.

“This rogue has the Roar!” Tao shouts. “Shields up!”

The air resonates with a harsh buzzing noise, as though a hundred wasp nests have been kicked in unison. Each soldier before them is now also holding a flickering shield made of concentric rings of light. Most of Catra’s mind is busy cataloguing her shrinking list of options, but a distant, dispassionate part can’t help observing that Entrapta would probably give a pigtail for the chance to experiment on this new tech. Tech that Tao seems to think is capable of blocking her. Of course, he could be bluffing.

“Are you trying to tell me those shields can defend against my voice?”

“See for yourself.”

Tao’s smarmy smile seems eager enough that Catra isn’t going to risk it. Her best guess is that the shields are somehow capable of reflecting the Roar. It’s definitely not worth testing—the last thing she needs right now is to knock _herself_ unconscious.

The first file of soldiers takes one step forward, then another. The others fall in behind. In moments, she’ll be taken prisoner. _Think._ She has to think. Clearly, the magicats are suspicious of change. Tao doesn’t trust or believe her, and everyone else in this room is following his orders. They probably won’t let her see the queen, especially since she has revealed such a powerful magical ability. But the queen might be her only hope. Maybe _she_ will willing to listen to reason.

Presumably, the queen is behind those double doors that everyone seems so focused on protecting. In desperation, Catra looks around the room for something, _anything_ she can do to buy herself at least a little more time. The soldiers slowly, inexorably close the gap between them.

A flicker of motion catches her eye, drawing her focus to where heavy crimson curtains are held back from the door jambs by thick gold cords. A draft must have caused their tassels to flutter. Inspiration sparks.

Catra steps back behind Tao, then shoves him hard toward the advancing line of troops. They shout, pulling up their shields as he barrels into them. Taking advantage of their distraction, Catra races forward and _leaps_ over their heads, reaching high for the cord and releasing a primal scream. Her voice is rolling thunder, and the percussive waves blast open the massive doors with a satisfying _crack._ When Catra’s claws barely skim the golden rope, she clutches hard even as her body slams into the wall. The impact jars her bones and teeth, releasing what little air is left in her lungs. Still, she refuses to let go. Eyes swimming, she forces herself to climb up, hand over hand, until she is precariously perched above the reach of the soldiers’ weapons. At any second, the rope might give way, bringing the curtains down and dropping her from this perch. Catra blinks hard, then peers into the room beyond.

Her heart sinks. More soldiers—many, many more—are blocking her access to a central dais, upon which rests an occupied throne that is flanked by two additional magicats. Over the pounding of her pulse, she hears Tao ordering his underlings to seize her. _Damn_ it. Adora is doubtless already doing her best to mount a rescue, but Catra had really wanted to save herself this time.

“Stop!”

This is a new voice—a female voice. Catra tightens her hold on the cord, then peers back into the room. The figure on the throne is on her feet; Catra can make out pale fur and the glint of some kind of crown on her brow. The queen’s face is raised toward her position.

“Get down from there! Come before me and answer for your actions.”

The queen’s imperious tone makes Catra bristle, and she is a heartbeat from mouthing off in reply when Tao speaks first.

“Your Majesty! It is not safe to be in the stranger’s proximity, as you have just witnessed.”

“I will not be without protection.” The queen gestures, and the figures standing at either side of the throne step forward, activating shields twice the size of those wielded by the rank-and-file soldiers. “Now. Allow her to pass.”

For a moment, Catra debates forcing them to cut her down before deciding the impulse is childish and contrary instead of strategic. She wanted to speak with the queen, after all, and she shouldn’t squander her chance. Catra clambers down the rope, then drops to the floor. The soldiers give her space, parting before her to form an aisle leading to the dais. Acutely aware that any one of them could decide to strike her from behind, Catra forces herself to walk at a steady pace, head high and eyes facing forward. The back of her neck prickles.

The queen’s fur is a light violet color, and her eyes are a luminous gold. She is wearing a padded crimson tunic over black leggings, and the crown on her head is a slim golden circlet. The simplicity of her garb surprises Catra until she remembers that the queen currently believes her kingdom is under attack by First Ones. She is dressed for a battle.

“Halt,” orders the figure to the right of the throne when Catra reaches the foot of the dais. His white robe bulges over his belly, but his gaze is deadly serious.

The queen holds Catra’s gaze for a long moment before she speaks.“Who are you? Why do you attack your own people?”

Catra has to clamp down on a retort that while everyone in this room might look like her, they are _not_ her people. Not in any meaningful sense. Still, they are confused, and she should try to give them the benefit of the doubt, right? That’s what Adora was trying to do before Sir Tao reacted badly.

“My name is Catra,” she begins, “and I don’t care if you find that insulting. It was given to me when I was a two-year-old orphan by the only person on the planet who thought I was worth anything.” When her voice cracks, Catra clears her throat and pushes on. “I don’t _want_ to attack anyone. But your general abducted me and refused to listen to reason.”

“She has taken the She-Ra as her _mate,_ Majesty!” Tao shouts from somewhere behind her.

The chamber fills with gasps. The queen frowns. “To do so would be an abomination. Does Sir Tao speak the truth?”

The hiss escapes Catra’s lips before she can bite it back. Fire burns in her throat, and she swallows convulsively. “An _abomination?_ Do you have any idea how close you all came to being annihilated only a handful of days ago? Adora just saved _the entire universe_ from Horde Prime, and she needed _me_ to do it. I don’t care who you are—don’t you _dare_ insult her, or us, again.”

A chorus of low growls fills the hall, but when the queen holds up a hand, they subside. “Horde Prime was on this planet?”

“He was about to rip the entire universe to pieces with the magic of the Heart, starting with Etheria. Now, he’s gone. Forever.”

“We did experience a mysterious earthquake ten days ago,” the figure to the left of the throne says quietly. “You were in stasis at the time, Majesty. The quake began and subsided with no warning—highly irregular.”

“That was Prime.” Catra will never forget the terror sluicing through her blood as Adora lay unconscious while the Heart’s chamber was wracked with seismic convulsions. _Don’t you get it? I love you!_

“If Horde Prime has been defeated, that means the First Ones have prevailed,” the white-robed magicat says. “We are in the same terrible danger as when we went into hid—”

“ _No,_ ” Catra says, licking her lips at the effort required to keep the roar out of her words. “They’re gone, too. Adora wasn’t fighting for the First Ones. She was fighting for _everyone.”_

“You claim the First Ones have left Etheria?” The magicat queen’s frown has deepened. “Why would they abandon their great weapon?”

Catra almost forgets to retract her claws as she clenches her hands. “Because Mara, the She-Ra before Adora, sacrificed herself to send the entire planet into a shadow dimension. Seriously, _how do you not know this_?”

An ear-splitting klaxon reverberates through the chamber, and its black walls are suddenly alive with images. A wave of disorientation crashes through Catra at the sight of Madame Razz, whacking the gate stone repeatedly with her broom. She seems to be yelling something, too, but no sound accompanies the images. Catra almost starts to laugh at this spectacle, until she catches sight of Adora standing a few feet away. The expression on her face is a blend of sorrow, fear, and resolve, and Catra’s inability to reassure her is like a knife twisting between her ribs.

“Is that… Razz?”

The unlikely question has come from the magicat who informed his queen about the earthquake. He is staring at the images in awe and… _blushing_.

“The witch who was once your lover? Are you certain, Percival?”

“Wait, what?” Catra absolutely cannot believe her ears, nor can she hold back a smirk. “You and Madame Razz were _lovers?”_

Percival shifts in clear discomfort. “Well, yes. For a time. You know of her?”

This day could not possibly get more bizarre. “Of her? I _know_ her. She’s the one who told me I’m a magicat.”

Another alarm shrieks through the air, and Catra’s ears pin back instinctively. Then, she realizes what has triggered it: a glowing pink circle on the ground behind Adora, its circumference expanding as they watch. In the next instant, Glimmer appears with her father, her annoying aunt, and all the princesses of power. Bow and Sea Hawk round out the group. Warmth banishes the hollow feeling in Catra’s chest. They all came for her--every last one of them.

“We’re being invaded!” Sir Tao shouts.

Catra whirls to face him. “You melodramatic moron! Those are the princesses of Etheria, along with the King of Bright Moon and a few other allies. They’re nauseatingly friendly. They’ll only fight if they have to.” She turns to the queen. “Talk to them. Listen to what they have to say. They can explain the past thousand years better than I can.”

The queen cocks her head, eyes narrowed. “ _King_ of Bright Moon? But their queen, Angella, is an immortal.”

Guilt twists like a hook in Catra’s gut. Her hands feel suddenly cold. “Uh. Angella is… she’s gone. She sacrificed herself to close a portal that would’ve ripped Etheria to pieces.” Catra’s tongue feels heavy in her mouth. “A portal I opened.”

The queen sinks back onto her throne. “You are full of marvelous tales, Catra.”

“I used to tell lies, Your Majesty.” Catra’s voice is hoarse and tight. “I don’t anymore.”

“We shall see.” The queen taps her chin. “Percival, go. See what they want, and if the story we’ve just heard is corroborated.” She looks down at Catra. “You, stay. And start from the beginning.”

*

As soon as Swift Wind’s feet touch the ground, Adora slides off with the intention of helping Razz dismount. Razz beats her to the punch, jumping to the ground with surprising lightness.

“It’s that black stone, there.” Adora points. “That’s the gate. It sort of… liquifies when it’s active.”

Razz walks toward the stone, then bends to look at it. “Faugh!” she says, straightening. Taking a two-handed grip on Broom, she delivers a firm blow to the rock. “Percival!” she bellows. “You’re making a terrible mess of things, as usual! Stop avoiding me!”

“Who is Percival?” Swift Wind asks.

“I have no idea.” If Catra weren’t trapped inside that mountain, Adora would likely find this situation hilarious. Does Razz really think that walloping the gate with her broom is going to help their situation?

This time, when She-Ra starts to slip away, Adora doesn’t fight it. Until they can get inside, She-Ra is useless. Despondently, she stares at the gate. Walking into Horde Prime’s flagship had been terrifying, but _not_ being able to walk into Halfmoon is far worse.

When Melog brushes against her side, Adora strokes between their ears. Melog is still bright red and pulsing with lambent energy, but they don’t appear to be frantic. Adora’s best guess is that Catra is upset but not being harmed in any way. And if she _is_ hurt? Fury boils beneath Adora’s skin at the thought.

When a sudden shift in air pressure makes her ears pop, Adora turns to see a large magical circle manifesting just behind her. Relief soothes the jagged edges of her anger as figures materialize: Glimmer and Bow, Micah and Castaspella, Mermista and Sea Hawk, Spinnerella and Netossa, Frosta, Entrapta, Scorpia and Perfuma. _Everyone_.

“Thank you,” Adora says, hearing the tremor in her own voice and not caring. “Thank you all for coming to help.”

“For the record,” Mermista declares, “I’m only here because I was bored to tears in a Salinean Council meeting.”

“And I’m only here because Glimmer promised I could punch something!” Frosta chirps.

“No princess left behind,” Perfuma sing-songs. “And that includes princess consorts.”

“Consort?” Sea Hawk looks at Mermista hopefully. “Am I your consort?”

“Ugh. Absolutely _not._ ”

“We’ll get her back, Adora.” Micah’s expression is sympathetic. “Glimmer didn’t have time to tell us much beyond the fact that you’ve found a hidden Etherian civilization and that Catra was abducted. Why don’t you fill us in?”

Adora glances over at Razz, who now appears to be crooning at the gate. Her syllables are unintelligible, but otherwise, she seems fine. Probably best to leave her be.

“What happened to our Wildcat?” Scorpia crowds close to Micah, pincers clacking fretfully.

Adora opens her mouth to begin the story when Razz _shrieks_. Adora spins just in time to watch her fall backward as the dark stone melts into a shadowy puddle. The magicat who emerges is attired in a quilted brown vest, and his fur is a soft gray. He offers a lopsided smile.

“Welcome to Magicat Mountain! I am Percival, Chief Ambassador of Bast, Queen of the Magicats. I do look forward to making your acquaintances, but first—”

Percival bows to Razz, who is slumped in a rather undignified heap on the ground. When he extends his hand, she takes it and scrambles to her feet. Adora could swear she is blushing.

“Madame Razz,” Percival says softly. “It has been far too long.” And then, he leans in to kiss the skin just above her knuckles.

Adora feels her jaw drop. Is this magicat _flirting_ with Razz? “Percival” was the name she mentioned earlier. What exactly is, or _was,_ their relationship?

“That is _so cute,”_ Bow whispers from behind her.

The last time he used that phrase, it was in reference to her and Catra. Adora shakes her head to clear it. If Razz and Percival want to rekindle whatever they had once Catra is safely back in her arms, fine. Until then, Adora’s priorities are crystal clear.

“Ambassador Percival,” she says, stepping forward. “Another magicat, Sir Tao, abducted one of our friends earlier today. We’re here to get her back.”

“We would also like to take this opportunity to introduce ourselves,” Micah adds, joining Adora in front of the group. “From what I understand, your civilization has been in hiding, and much has changed on Etheria during that time. I am Micah, King of Bright Moon. This is my sister, Castaspella; my daughter, Glimmer; and the other princesses of power: Mermista of Salineas, Frosta of the Kingdom of Snows, Perfuma of Plumeria, Entrapta of Dryl, and Scorpia…”

“My kingdom used to be called the Fright Zone!” Scorpia chimes in. “But that’s not very hospitable, so we’re working on finding a better one.”

“We are also joined by Spinnerella and Netossa, as well as Bow and Sea Hawk.” Micah’s smile is open and welcoming. Adora appreciates his diplomatic efforts, but she watches Percival closely, just in case his apparent affability conceals a threat.

Percival returns Micah’s smile. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you all.” He turns to Adora. “But _you_ have not yet introduced yourself.”

Under different circumstances, Adora would be embarrassed by her lapse. But these people _stole_ Catra from her, and politeness isn’t exactly her priority at the moment. Still, the right words might be able to make a difference now. Adora breathes in deeply through her nose like Perfuma has taught her, reaching for some measure of calm.

“I’m Adora. I’m also She-Ra. I know you’re suspicious of that, but things are different now. What the First Ones did to Etheria was wrong, but they’re gone, and the magic has been freed.”

Glimmer moves to Adora’s other side. “It’s a long story,” she says, “but an evil being named Horde Prime came to this planet to use the First Ones’ weapon. He has been defeated, and the weapon has been… permanently dismantled.”

Percival nods thoughtfully. “Your friend—Catra, she calls herself?—said as much. But these events seem miraculous, and it is difficult for our people to trust a First One.”

“We’ve never met other First Ones,” Perfuma says. “But Adora is nothing like what we’ve heard of them. She was ready to sacrifice herself to free the magic and defeat Prime. That’s not the healthiest attitude, but it is a generous one.”

When Percival returns his gaze to her, Adora holds it. He doesn’t seem hostile—a little suspicious, but mostly curious. A tendril of hope threads through the morass of her anxiety.

“Did you know Mara?” she tries. “She was She-Ra a thousand years ago. She rebelled against the ones who tried to control her and sacrificed herself to move Etheria into Despondos.”

He cocks his head. “Despondos?”

“An empty dimension!” Entrapta explains cheerfully. “Mara didn’t want the First Ones to be able to use their weapon against other worlds.”

“Etheria’s not there anymore, though,” Glimmer says. Adora can hear the tension in her syllables. “That was my mistake, and it’s how Prime found us.”

“That’s all in the past, now.” Bow steps forward and takes Glimmer’s hand. “Prime really is gone. And once we figure out how, we’re going to share the Heart’s magic with the rest of the universe! Right, Adora?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I do remember Mara,” Percival says slowly. He looks to Razz. “She was the subject of a… disagreement between Razz and myself.”

Razz is scowling at him, her eyes narrow behind her spectacles. “Disagreement? Bah! First, you accused her of manipulating me, and _then_ you implied I was a traitor!”

“Surely, you can admit that the She-Ra gaining your trust seemed highly suspicious from my point of view, and—”

“Trust?!” Razz brandishes Broom at him. “What about the _trust_ you should have had in me? Eh?”

Adora feels like she is watching a game of ice ball. At least Percival has the good sense to look apologetic. It’s difficult to imagine Razz romantically involved with anyone, but Adora _can_ picture how befriending Mara could have been perceived as a betrayal. After all, didn’t she put Glimmer and Bow in a similarly vexed position, all those years ago?

“Clearly, we have much to discuss,” Micah interjects. “Would your queen be willing to release Catra and then meet for a formal summit in Bright Moon? Or in a neutral location, if she would feel more comfortable?”

Percival bows. “I will take this offer, and your request, to Her Majesty.”

Micah nods. “We will await your return.”

As Adora watches him walk toward the stone, despair rises like a flash flood. “Wait!” she chokes out. “Please. Take me with you. I _need_ to see Catra. I-I love her. I need to know she’s okay.”

Percival looks over his shoulder at her, then shakes his head. “To allow you access to Halfmoon would be to betray the solemn oaths I have sworn. We will not harm your friend. You will have Her Majesty’s answer soon.”

As he disappears into the gate, Adora sinks to the ground. When Melog butts their head against her knee, she wraps her arms around them and buries her face in their mane. Above and around her, the voices of her friends offer comfort and reassurance. _She’s okay, Adora. It’s going to be fine. This is just a misunderstanding. She’ll be back before you know it._

They’re right—intellectually, she knows that. Catra being held in Halfmoon by her own relatives, who will probably turn out to be new allies, is categorically different from her chipped incarceration in Prime’s flagship. But despite _knowing_ this, it doesn’t _feel_ that way. Catra is gone, and Adora’s power is inadequate to reach her. She was willing to walk into Prime’s trap when Catra was still ostensibly her enemy. Now, they are in love. They are _lovers._

Adora would give anything to reach her. And nothing she can give is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Razz's sexy elf king ex can't be her *only* ex. Am I right?!
> 
> Also, the magicats really do have super cheesy lightsaber type weapons: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/heman/images/9/97/Magicat_Soldiers.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/340?cb=20151228200311


End file.
